


The Art of Understanding

by The_Walking_Pie



Category: Emergency! (TV 1972)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Walking_Pie/pseuds/The_Walking_Pie
Summary: Brice doesn't understand a lot of things, least of all Bellingham. But when Belliveau retires and someone at headquarters decides to pair Brice up with the Animal permanently, things happen.





	1. A Retirement Party

Brice knows he doesn't have a lot of friends. Some say it's because he's too honest. Some say it's because he's a know-it-all. Some says it's because he's way to obsessed with perfection. Brice thinks all of those things things are true. After all, he does know a lot more than the average person. And his honesty can sting, even if people need to hear all the facts. But it gets depressing to walk into an empty apartment, day after day, sit down, and do nothing but wait until his next shift. At least he has Belliveau. Belliveau is one of the few people that doesn't get irritated by Brice's habits or mannerisms. Sure, he's a bit doe-eyed, to put it politely, but he's the most loyal partner a guy could ask for.

One day, Belliveau decided to ask Brice for breakfast after their shirt. Brice should've known right then and there that something was up. They almost never hung out off duty.

Sure enough, partway through the meal, Belliveau set his fork down.

"Brice, I'm retiring."

Brice almost spat out his food.

"Are you sure?" Brice asked. "Mandatory retirement age is 55, and you're 53."

"I know that," Belliveau said. "but I've talked that over with my wife, and I think, well we think, that it's time. I've a good career. I've spent 30 years in the fire department, I'm the first paramedic to be certified in Los Angeles county, I'm on the paramedic advisory committee…"

"I know you're old," Brice blurted, "but you can still do your job well. You don't have to retire now. And the longer you wait to retire, the more money you'll have for your Social Security checks. And…"

Belliveau held up his hand. "Take it easy, Brice. Believe me, we've talked about all the benefits, and the drawbacks, and pretty much all the crazy scenarios. I'm ready for this. I want this. I need to spend time with my grandkids, for one. And Lori and I want to travel different places, and take a second honeymoon…" Belliveau grinned.

"What if you get bored?" Brice asked.

"I'll just volunteer with the Red Cross and give first aid courses." Belliveau answered. "I told you Brice, I've thought this out."

Brice sighed. "I suppose one would think a decision like this all the way through."

"One generally would." Belliveau agreed.

"I'm sorry that you're leaving. You've…you have been a good partner." Brice stared intently at a hamburger wrapper several tables away. Stupidly, he almost felt like crying.

"Hey, I'll miss you too. But I'm sure your next partner will be just as good as me." Belliveau tried to reassure him.

"But they won't be you."

Belliveau reached for Brice to give him a pat on the shoulder, but Brice drew back. "Ah, you don't like being touched. Sorry, I forgot."

"Don't worry about it." Brice had a thought. "Have you told any of the other guys yet?"

"I've got them covered. You were the only person I had left to tell."

Brice whipped out his notebook. "Then I need to start the party preparations! You deserve a retirement party as big as the one for Chief Hotus!"

"Calm it down Brice," Belliveau laughed. "Do you always carry a notebook around?"

"I use it to write notes for myself," Brice explained. "Anyway, party ideas…"

"Brice." Belliveau interrupted him. "There's already people planning a retirement party for me."

Brice stopped writing. "Oh? Who's in charge?"

"It doesn't matter!" Belliveau exclaimed. "The important thing is, you don't have to worry about it. It's all taken care of."

Brice set down his pen. "Belliveau, you're my paramedic partner, or I suppose former paramedic partner now. I want to help with your party too!"

Belliveau bit his lip. "They don't need any more help."

"Well, I'd be glad to offer my expertise anyway." Brice insisted.

"Brice…" Belliveau bit his lip. "Brice, they don't  _want_  your help."

Brice felt his face crumble. "They don't want my help? Why not?"

"Well, you tend to like things a certain way, and you tend to force your ideas on everyone else…"

"Only the superior ones."

Belliveau sighed. "That's your problem. You think your ideas are superior, so you ignore those who doesn't agree with you. That tends to make people angry. I know you mean well, but not everyone understands that."

Brice sat there, stupefied. "But…I could…maybe just…why can't you talk to the person in charge and change their mind?"

Belliveau groaned. "Actually, I was asked specifically…to not…um…"

"To not include me?" Brice finished.

"I know it's not fair!" Belliveau blurted. "I just don't want my retirement to be marked by fighting! And they are right, you are kind of hard to work with…"

Belliveau clapped his hands over his mouth. Brice felt his face start to color. Sure, he'd heard complaints about his work attitude from his fellow paramedics before, but for Belliveau to say something like that...

Brice didn't care about many people's opinions, but he cared about Belliveau's.

"I'm sorry!" Belliveau apologized. "It's not that I never liked working with you, it's just that…"

Brice wasn't in the mood for excuses. "Belliveau, stop."

Belliveau pushed on. "Brice, you've been a good partner, a great partner! Sure, you have your oddities…"

"I think I get it, you don't have to elaborate…"

"…I mean, everyone has their quirks. Sure, yours are weird and you never want to change them, but it's not like you don't try to get along with people…"

"Belliveau." Brice said tersely.

"…but the fact is that you control everything and that pushes people away and I really wish that I could have stood up for you but…"

"I get it! Just stop sticking your foot in your mouth already!"

The chatter in the restaurant abruptly dimed down. Brice realized that he'd shouted. He closed his eyes.  _Calm down,_  he told himself. Breath in, breath out.

The conversations around them slowly started up again. "Brice," Belliveau ventured, "I didn't mean to upset you."

Brice exhaled. "You are one of the few people who try not to," he said, "and I'm grateful. Thank you."

"If it makes you feel any better, Sutton is behind you." Belliveau tried to reassure him. "Once Cap got a wind of what was going on, he tried to change their mind. Unfortunately, Captain Leverson told him that my retirement party planning wasn't a department matter, and that he should butt out, and Cap would've taken it farther except…"

"…you asked him not to." Brice finished.

"Yeah." Belliveau admitted. "I'm sorry."

For a minute, Brice was tempted to ask who else was explicitly against him helping. He decided that it didn't do him any good to know. "I guess it's reassuring to know that he's on my side." He conceded. "Apology accepted. I don't blame you for not wanting your retirement to be marked by a fight."

"Yeah."

Belliveau looked like he wanted to say something more, but Brice flagged the waitress down. "I'll get the check today, ma'am."

Belliveau reached for his wallet. "No, I can get it."

Brice was quicker. He handed the waitress a ten before Belliveau even got his wallet out of his pocket. He flashed Belliveau his best friendly smile. "Consider it an early-early retirement present."

 _At least I can do that much for you,_  he thought to himself as Belliveau put his wallet away.

* * *

 

Before Brice could completely accept the reality that his partner was retiring, Belliveau's retirement party had arrived. It was held the day after his last shift. Looking around, Brice had to admit that his coworkers had done a pretty good job, even without him. The squad and the engine had been parked outside in the likely event that B shift had a run during the event. Inside, there were three long tables filled with confections, chips, and even some fruit. There were three double chocolate cakes, Belliveau's favorite, and coolers full of soda and water. Apparently, someone had tried to sneak in a cooler of beer, but Chief McConnike caught them in the act. The funny part was that Belliveau didn't even drink. Brice guessed that the perpetrator only did it in the hope of becoming "popular". He never understood people like that.

There were a couple of bean bag toss sets, but for the most part, people seemed to be stopping in, congratulating Belliveau, giving him a present or a card, chatting for a while, and then leaving. Brice, on the other hand, was standing awkwardly to the side, fidgeting with his bottled water. His crew members and the Rampart staff had made brief visits out of politeness, but for the most part, people left him alone. Belliveau managed to come over briefly at the beginning of the party, but because he was the guest of honor and everyone had wanted to talk to him, Brice hadn't seen him since. He considered leaving, but he wanted to stay and help clean up. Leverson would have a hard time telling him no. And more importantly, Belliveau would appreciate his help.

Brice glanced at the clock. Only a half-hour left of the official party time. He estimated that people would probably hang around a half-hour around that, with clean up starting somewhere in that time range. It was almost over. He took a long drink from his water. In about an hour or so, he'd be safe at home, with a book and a glass of hot cocoa with a little bit of milk in it…

Brice felt a slap on his back. "Hey there Brice!"

Brice choked on his water. There was only one person he knew who greeted people with physical violence. The Animal. "Hello Bellingham." He rasped.

"Oh, that was bad timing, huh." Bellingham frowned. "Sorry pal. You okay?"

Brice composed himself. "Yes. You should be more careful."

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Bellingham took a sip of soda. "So, are you excited for our first shift together?"

"Of course." Truthfully, Brice had been trying to forget about it. But apparently, someone in the department had thought that their partnership would be a good idea.

"I know when we covered Roy and John's shifts together we didn't really get along, but I look forward to putting that behind us." Bellingham put out his hand. "To the start of a brand-new partnership."

 _Didn't get along_. That was an understatement. Brice and Bellingham had argued with each other so many times that Captain Stanley ordered them to stay as far away as possible from each other. But, if Bellingham was willing to forgive and forget, then Brice supposed that it would be prudent if he did the same. Brice clasped Bellingham's hand. "To the start of a brand-new partnership."

Bellingham pulled away his hand. Brice realized that his hand was suddenly wet and sticky.

"Bellingham, what did you touch before you came over here?"

"I had some pears, and they were out of forks, so the juice got all over my fingers…"

"…so you licked your hand?" Brice finished.

"...Maybe."

"That's gross!" Brice wiped his hand on his pants. "Why didn't you use a napkin?"

Bellingham shrugged. "They ran out, so I did the first thing I could think of."

"At the very least you could've washed your hands when you were done!" Brice exclaimed. "It's a wonder your patients don't get infections!"

Bellingham furrowed his brow. "What do pears have to do with infections?"

"I'm not talking about the pears!" Brice hissed. "I assume you know what infections are and what can cause them! For example, failing to uphold proper standards of hygiene, such as not washing your hands, like you just failed to do, cause them!"

"I always take the health of my patients very seriously." Bellingham interrupted angrily. "My habits on my personal time do not affect the way I treat them. And may I remind you that I have been a paramedic longer than you have."

"Well, sometimes you don't act like it…"

Suddenly, the tones dropped. The members of the B shift scrambled outside.

"Save us some cake, Bob!" Holland yelled as he headed for the squad.

"I'll do my best, Joe!" Belliveau yelled back.

Bellingham clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. "Sucks that B shift got toned out."

Brice nodded. "It's an occupational hazard."

Bellingham let out a long sigh. "I'm going to play some bean bags. If you ever get off your high horse, you're welcome to join me."

"I have to wash my hands first." Brice snapped back. "Like a proper paramedic."

"Whatever." Mercifully, Bellingham wandered away.

Brice washed his hands the correct way, thirty seconds with soap and warm water.  _Parties would be perfect if it weren't for the people_ he thought. He resolved to spend the rest of the party hiding out at the house tower. Maybe if he was lucky, he could hide there until his retirement party.

If he got a retirement party. Somehow, Brice wasn't sure anyone would throw one for him.

Brice made the mistake of glancing toward the bean bag toss. DeSoto and Gage were on one team, Bellingham and Dwyer were on the other. Brice watched as DeSoto nailed a three-point shot straight into the hole.

"Nice shot pally!" Gage cheered from across the way. "I think you got the hang of it!" Dwyer and Bellingham applauded politely.

For a moment, Brice considered joining them. Bellingham had offered for him to be on his team, after all. He was probably being polite, but maybe, just maybe, he was being sincere.

Bellingham overshot terribly, whacking Dwyer in the knee. "Oh jeez! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Dwyer picked the bag off the floor. "You'd have to throw that a lot harder to hurt me, partner!"

"I wish you were my partner." Bellingham muttered.

Brice made his way to the hose tower. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. Why would anyone want to hang out with him outside of the context of work? Brice sat down behind the hose tower, staring at the chain link fence, listening to the tick-tick of his watch as the party went on without him.


	2. The First Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably put a quick disclaimer here that I have no medical background aside from growing up very close to the Mayo Clinic. If you encounter a similar situation, please actually call a paramedic/someone else who knows what they're doing.

Brice made sure to arrive right on time for his shift, approximately fifteen minutes before it started. If he had learned anything growing up, it was that promptness was an important virtue for an adult to display. Surprisingly, the Animal also chose to arrive at about the same time. Brice hadn't been expecting that, given Bellingham's usual habit of showing up late. Brice hoped that would be a good sign for today.

"Morning Brice!" Bellingham headed straight for Belliveau's old locker. "I believe Captain Sutton told me I could have this one?"

Brice nodded. "It's vacant."

"Okay," Bellingham threw his duffel bag in the locker and pulled out a wrinkled uniform.

Brice couldn't resist. "I think you need to iron that."

"It straightens out once I get it on." Bellingham answered, giving his uniform a shake.

"Alright then." Brice sighed. His efforts would be better spent getting ready himself. Ignore Bellingham, ignore Bellingham, ignore Bellingham…

"So, who brews the best coffee around here?" Bellingham asked.

Brice did one last once over before shutting his locker. "I don't drink coffee myself, but I'm told…" he turned around. "Bellingham, what are you doing to your shoe?"

Bellingham was busy trying to jam his dress shoe onto his foot, with the laces tied. He had one hand on the tongue of the shoe, and his thumb on the heel. "Putting it on." He said innocently.

Brice cringed. "Do you have any idea how bad that is for the heel? Not only are you going to wear through that pair faster, you're going to destroy support for your heels and…"

"Good morning Brice!" A man with a bowl cut strode into the locker room. "Do anything interesting on your day off?"

"Um…uh…not really...but..." Brice stuttered. "Breckenridge! You ruined my train of thought."

"Sorry." Breckenridge apologized, not sounding sorry at all. He turned to Bellingham. "You must be Bob Bellingham. Nice Stache." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Tripp Breckenridge. Nice to meet you, Bob. I can give you a quick tour around the station, if you'd like."

Bellingham shook his hand. "I would like that, Tripp. Thank you."

Breckenridge turned to Brice. "Oh yeah, Cap wants to see you in his office."

Brice frowned. "Why?"

Breckenridge shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe you forgot to alphabetize the drug box last shift."

Brice rolled his eyes. "Ha ha. We both know I never forget to do that."

"That's the joke." Breckenridge winked. "I'll see you at roll call, bud."

"Don't call me bud," Brice muttered as he made his way to the captain's office.

Captain Sutton was sitting at his desk doing paperwork. "Good morning Brice."

Brice gently closed the door behind him. "Good morning, Captain."

Sutton set his pencil down. "How are you today?"

Brice sat down. "Breckenridge called me bud again."

Sutton sighed. "Brice, we've talked about this. You can't micromanage other people's habits. Sometimes you just have to let people do things that annoy you. Some battles just aren't worth fighting. Tripp calls everyone bud. Heck, he calls me bud. He doesn't mean anything bad by it, so why let it bug you?"

"I have considered letting him get away with it." Brice admitted.

Sutton nodded. "That's good. What's stopping you?"

"Because then I'd lose."

Sutton frowned. "Lose what?"

"The fight to get Breckenridge to stop calling me bud." Brice explained. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Sutton shifted in his chair. "A little bird told me that you and Bellingham haven't exactly…gotten along in the past."

Ah. Of course the captain would want to talk about him and Bellingham. "Who's the little bird?"

"That's not important." Sutton said. "Brice, I want to know how you feel about working with Bellingham."

"How I feel?" Brice had to tread carefully here. "I'll be fine. Well, Bellingham isn't exactly the most well-ordered person ever, but he is a certified paramedic."

"Certified because he has a certificate or because he's good at his job?"

Brice shrugged. "Well, I suppose he is competent."

"I'm glad you said that." Sutton leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands. "I know Bellingham has the exact opposite personality as you do, and that's going to make it hard to work together, but I just want you to remember that he's a paramedic, just like you. You need to remember that."

"Did you and Bellingham have this conversation about me?"

"We had a similar conversation." Sutton admitted.

"I'll do my best sir," Brice agreed, "but I can't change Bellingham's mind about me. If someone doesn't like me, they don't like me, and that's that."

"You don't have to like each other, you just have to work together. From what I hear, Bellingham's doing his best to get along with you, even if you don't see it that way. He's just waiting for you to come the two inches."

"Two inches?"

"He's waiting for you to make the effort."

"Ah. I see." Brice tipped his head. "Haven't I already been doing that?"

Sutton bit his lip. "Well…I think in Bellingham's case, the best way to show that you want to get along is to let certain things slide. You know, like what we were talking about earlier."

Brice crossed his arms. "Why don't the same things work for the same people?"

"I wish I had a definite answer for you Brice." Sutton said. "It'd be a lot easier if people were like typewriters. Because with those, you push one button…"

"…you get the same result." Brice finished. Sutton had given him the same spiel multiple times. "Variety is part of being human."

Sutton smiled. "Exactly. Now I know sometimes it's hard for you, but…"

Captain Sutton was interrupted by the sound of the tones dropping. "Squad 16, child down. One mile east of County road 4. One mile east of County Road 4. Time out, 7:58.

 _Of course there's a run right before roll call_ , Brice thought to himself.  _I haven't even had a chance to organize the drug box yet._  He strode to the bay and saw Bellingham already sitting in the passenger's seat. At least Bellingham remembered that Brice liked to drive.

Thompson handed the call slip over to Brice. "Be careful." He said.

"Of course." Brice slipped into the driver's seat, handed the slip to Bellingham, and shut the door. Easing his foot off of the brake, he turned on the sirens and headed out. It was time to put the new partnership to the test.

 

* * *

 

"I think it's up here." Bellingham pointed left with his finger so fast, he narrowly missed hitting Brice in the face.

Brice obediently turned up the steep canyon road. It had been several years, but Brice was pretty sure he recognized where they were. "I used to go camping here as a Boy Scout." He told Bellingham.

"You were a scout?" Bellingham asked. He sounded interested.

Brice shrugged. He didn't see anything interesting about being a scout. "It was the thing to do when I was a child. My mom signed my cousin Tim and I up when we turned ten. I never really had fun."

Bellingham slumped a little. "I see."

A man in a scoutmaster uniform flagged them down from the side of the road. Brice pulled the squad over.

"Are you the man who placed the call?" Bellingham asked.

The man nodded. "Yessir. My name's Daryl Peterson. One of my scouts broke his arm jumping between some rocks. I would've just driven him down to Rampart, but he's in a lot of pain, so I called you guys. His parents signed a permission form when he joined, so I can give you permission to treat him."

"Do you think we can get the squad up there?" Brice asked.

Daryl shrugged. "Maybe, but I think it'd be quicker to walk. Our campsite is just up the hill and to the right. I'll take you there."

"Alrighty then." Bellingham swung out of the squad and grabbed the biophone. Brice put the squad in park, grabbed the drug box, locked up, and followed him around the back of the squad.

Now that they were walking up the path, Brice was certain that he had come here once with his scout troup. He recognized the tall rock formations. His fellow scouts loved to jump around from rock to rock as well. Apparently, the tradition was still alive. Brice abstained from the tomfoolery of his peers, naturally. The last thing his parents needed was for him to hurt himself. All of his scout mates called him a chicken. Well, almost all of them. Tim, being the good cousin he was, didn't say anything. And Biff…well, Biff would've sat out with him. He was the most loyal best friend anyone could ask for.

Brice swallowed.  _Now's not the time to think about Biff,_  he told himself _. I have to focus on now. This is no time to be in the past._

Daryl led them through the campsite. A bunch of other boy scouts were sitting around a picnic table. They seemed particularly curious about the paramedics.

"Are those the guys that are going to fix Rodney's arm?" one boy asked.

"Can we watch?" another boy yelled.

"Hush." a scoutmaster commanded. "The paramedics don't need you all getting in their way. Breakfast will be ready soon."

"He's over here," Daryl said, gesturing towards the green tent at the edge of the site. He opened the flap. Brice and Bellingham followed him inside. "Rodney, Don, the paramedics are here."

A boy with dusty blond hair, freckles, and wire-rimmed glasses was lying on a sleeping bag, head resting on a backpack. He had a laceration stretching from the middle of his forehead and ending right above his right eyebrow. His arm was in a sling and tears were streaming down his face. He looked around eight years old. "Hi." he muttered glumly.

Don was kneeling next to Rodney with a water bottle. "I took the liberty of splinting his arm." he explained. "Good thing we were working on our First-Aid badges."

"That is fortuitous." Brice agreed.

"I'll direct the ambulance workers in while you two work." Daryl said. "Sound good?"

"That will work fine." Brice followed Bellingham into the tent.

Bellingham knelt down beside Rodney. "Hey kiddo! I heard you broke your arm. What happened?"

Rodney's lower lip quivered. "Some of my den mates decided to climb around on the rocks. I didn't want to at first, but they called me names and told me that I was a coward, so I decided to join them and then they wanted me to leap between these gigantic rocks and I missed and I fell and and and…" he burst into sobs, clutching his head.

Brice felt a twinge of sympathy. Rodney sounded like a logical young man, just like Brice had once been. The difference between the two of them was that Rodney had taken his den mates' insults to heart.

Bellingham put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Hey. What's done is done. The good news is that I'm here to make you feel better. Okay?"

Rodney sniffled. "Okay."

Brice set the drug box next to Bellingham. He usually had the best rapport with kids;it was best to let him take this one.

"I need to take a look at your arm so I can see how broken it is, alright?"

"Alright." Rodney answered.

Bellingham gingerly started his examination. "First I'm going to check your pulse, like this. Then I'm going to just take your respirations like this, okay? Then I'm going to take your blood pressure on your good arm. You'll feel a little squeeze, but it doesn't last long. Meanwhile, my partner's going to give the doctor a call on his phone and ask him to give you some pain medicine. Are you doing okay?"

Rodney nodded. "I guess so."

Brice set up the biophone. "Rampart, this is Squad 16. Squad 1-6."

"Squad 16, go ahead." Dr. Morton's voice answered*.

"Rampart, we have a young boy, approximately eight…"

"I'm ten!" Rodney protested.

 _He looks young for ten_ , Brice thought. "Correction Rampart, ten years old. He broke his arm in a fall while jumping between rocks. A scoutmaster has splinted the arm. He also has a laceration on his forehead occurred in the same fall. Vital signs to follow."

Bellingham gave Brice the vitals. Brice passed them along.

"16, start an IV with D5W." Dr. Morton ordered.

"10-4 Rampart." Brice got the IV ready.

Rodney tried to scoot back. "I don't want a needle!"

"It's just a quick prick." Bellingham explained soothingly. "The doctor needs this so that he can give medicine to you much more quickly. It doesn't hurt that much."

"Why can't he just poke me when he needs to give me the medicine?" Rodney begged.

"It's much quicker this way." Brice explained.  _Plus, Morton told me to._  "It's only one poke as well, as opposed to several, and it's all over before you realize what's going on. The anticipation is worse than the pain."

"Only one?" Rodney looked skeptical.

Brice nodded. "Ideally, yes."

Rodney's eyes widened. "What do you mean,  _ideally_?"

"Don't worry about it!" Bellingham quickly reassured him. "It looks like you have pretty good veins anyway. How about I hold your hand and Brice does all the needle stuff?"

Rodney's voice quivered. "Okay…"

Don put his hand on Rodney's shoulder. "Now Rodney, men don't need someone to hold their hand when they get a shot. And they aren't supposed to cry either…"

Brice glanced at Don. "First of all, it's an IV needle, not a shot. Second of all, his arm is  _broken_. You'd be crying too. Whoever told you men never cry is spewing malarkey in order to protect their own hubris."

"Well, I…" Don stuttered.

"What do hubris and malarty mean?" Rodney asked.

Brice felt a little embarrassed. In his impassioned statement, he had forgotten to take into account Rodney's vocabulary level. "Hubris is another word for pride. And it's malar _key_ , not malarty. Malarkey is another word for nonsense."

"Oh." Rodney frowned. "Why didn't you just say those words then?"

"Because Brice likes big words." Bellingham explained. "Although he can be superflicious at times."

" _Superfluous_." Brice corrected him. "I don't think superflicious is a real word. By the way Rodney, that means that Bellingham here thinks my usage of big words is a little excessive."

"Well, Captain Sutton did tell me to invest in a dictionary if I was going to be your partner."

"Did he tell you to buy the newest version of Webster's?"

"Would being an edition or two behind be okay?" Bellingham winked. "I unearthed a copy for a bargain about a fortnight ago."

Brice paused for a moment, trying to throw as many "big words" as possible in his response. "I suppose that one's lexicography could be adequately expounded upon through the assistance of slightly hackneyed materials.

"You missed the mark there with hackneyed." Bellingham pointed out. "That refers to an overused saying, right? Not a used item."

"I-" Brice thought about what he said. "Well, I...we can look that up later, it doesn't matter right now."

Bellingham raised his eyebrows. "So I'm right?"

Rodney started to giggle, and then winced. "I know some big words too!"

"How about this?" Bellingham proposed. "You tell me all the big words you know so that I can understand my partner without a dictionary. In the meantime, Brice can give you the IV while you're distracted without you noticing. Sound good?"

"He can do that?" Rodney sounded impressed.

"He's one of the best paramedics in the county." Bellingham replied.

Brice did his best to suppress a grin. He wasn't sure if Bellingham had said that to reassure Rodney or if his praise had been genuine, but it was nice to hear nonetheless.

"Okay." Rodney conceded. "Um...one big word I know is philanthropist. That means someone who gives a lot of money to charity. And another word...persistent. That means you keep asking for stuff you want. And Prehistoric. Well, you probably know what that word means, but it means the time before dinosaurs. I know a lot of stuff about dinosaurs."

Brice got the IV ready. "Do you want a quick warning beforehand so you don't jump?"

"Um…" Rodney drew his good arm back "I don't know…"

"That's probably best." Bellingham pulled Rodney's arm away from his chest. "Brice needs to get at your arm, okay?"

Rodney bit his lip. "I know. I'm still nervous though."

"You're doing great, Rodney." Bellingham gave him a pat on the shoulder. "So you like dinosaurs?"

"Yup. The T-Rex is my favorite."

"I like the Pterodactyl. Do you know how to spell pterodactyl?"

"With a P, right?"

"That's right. P-t-e-r-o-d-a-y-c-t-a-l."

Brice felt for the vein. "It's  _P-t-e-r-o-d-a-c-t-y-l_ , Bellingham. You threw in an extra 'a' and put the 'y' in the wrong place."

Bellingham shrugged. "Well, I got the P where it's supposed to go, didn't I?"

Rodney burst out laughing. "The P where it's supposed to go! Ha!"

 _Really?_  Brice thought to himself. Granted, the kid was ten, but it wasn't that funny of a joke. Then again, Brice vaguely recalled a preoccupation he had around that age with the seventh planet in the solar system. Maybe it was just a kid thing.

Deciding that now was as good a time as any, Brice said, "Here comes the poke," and slipped the needle in.

"That was it?" Rodney asked.

"Yep." Brice quickly secured the IV.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" Bellingham asked.

"No." Rodney sounded amazed. "The anticipation  _was_ worse. I guess you were right Brice."

"That's usually the case." Brice answered.

Bellingham didn't miss a beat. "He's also  _very_ humble." Bellingham's voice dripped with sarcasm. " _Very humble._ "

Brice rolled his eyes.

"Are you normally hubrisfull Brice?" Rodney asked.

"Ah...um…" Brice could hear Bellingham struggling not to chortle. "Everyone has a little bit of hubris inside them." Brice answered quickly. "The trick is not letting that hubris overtake you."

Rodney nodded. "That makes sense."

"That's absolutely true." Don agreed.

"Yea-" Bellingham cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes it is."

Daryl poked his head in the tent. "The ambulance attendants are here."

 _Thank goodness_ , Brice thought. "Thank you Daryl. Bellingham, I assume you're going to ride in with our patient..."

"Um…can you ride in with me?" Rodney requested.

Brice was surprised. "You want  _me_ to ride in?"

"Well...I have a couple of questions for you." Rodney explained sheepishly.

Brice glanced at Bellingham. Bellingham shrugged. "I'm fine with it if you are."

"Alright then." Brice agreed.

The ambulance attendants gently put Rodney on the stretcher. Brice and Bellingham took the back end while the attendants took the front. The four of them carefully carried Rodney down the hill while Daryl and Don carried down their gear. The other scoutmaster keep the other boys busy with breakfast.

"I'm hungry." Rodney sniffed.

"You must be feeling better then." Brice said. "Don't worry, I'm sure the staff at Rampart will make you some toast."

Rodney perked up. "With honey and peanut butter?"

"I'm not sure about honey, but they definitely have peanut butter." Brice promised. "I used to borrow their supply to make sandwiches."

"Why?" asked Bellingham. "Do you guys not have a lot of food at the station?"

"Oh we usually do. I just don't always like what's being cooked." Brice explained.

Bellingham seemed confused. "You don't like what's being cooked?" he echoed.

"No. Although, I know you would probably eat garbage if it was on your plate."

Bellingham growled. "I'll have you know, if someone puts the effort into making me something, I will at least have the decorum to eat it. Unlike  _you_."

Brice blinked. Apparently, Bellingham had interpreted his statement differently than Brice had intended. Brice had only meant to poke fun at Bellingham's large palate. Brice wasn't too sure what Bellingham thought he had said, but it was clear that Bellingham didn't like it. Thankfully, they had reached the bottom of the hill. Brice chose simply to ignore Bellingham and focus on helping the attendants load Rodney. Two taps of the door later, the ambulance was speeding off towards Rampart.

"So... you had a question for me?" Brice ventured.

"Er...yeah." Rodney bit his lip. "So...um...how did you become a fireman?"

"Oh." That was an easy question. "Well, I graduated from high school, and then I went to the fire academy…"

"No, I mean how did  _you_  become a fireman?" Rodney used his freehand to gesture to all of Brice.

"I have more muscle than you think." Brice remarked dryly.

"I mean…" Rodney sighed. "I want to be a policeman, you know, like in Adam 12, but nobody thinks I can. The kids at school all make fun of me. I like sports, but I'm terrible at them. I've never been the strongest, or the fastest. I'm a wimpy nerd."

"I see." Brice thought it over. "Well, it took a lot of hard work. I had to train hard to be able to lift the necessary amount that the fire department required. My cousin Tim convinced me to join cross country in high school. Even though I was never the best, I got a lot of experience with running and physical training that way. And my best friend Biff…" Brice paused, unsure of how to articulate himself.

"Your friend Biff…" Rodney prompted.

"Biff was… well versed with fire regulations from a young age, and taught me all he knew." Brice finished. The truth was slightly more complicated than that, but that was all Brice felt comfortable telling. "Anyway, don't let anyone tell you what you can do, because the person who knows what you can do best is you."

"I just wish that more people would have faith in me instead of calling me wimpy." Rodney admitted.

Brice nodded. "Being a policeman is a very noble career. And I'm certain that with hard work and determination, you'll be as good of a police officer as Malloy and Reed."

"You think so?"

"Yes." Brice answered confidently. "Just keep your nose clean, so to speak."

"Will do." Rodney rubbed his nose.

Brice chuckled. "I think you knew what I meant."

The ambulance pulled into Rampart. "Will you come visit me?" Rodney asked.

"I'm not sure you'll be in the hospital for that long, but you're welcome to come over to the station anytime." Brice offered.

The ambulance attendants opened the door and started to unload Rodney. "Could I have a tour?" herequested.

"Sure thing." Brice grabbed the drug box. "Just call ahead and make sure we're there first."

"Awesome!" Rodney cheered. "Wait until I tell my friends!"

Dr. Morton met the stretcher. "Treatment room 3, please. Brice, you're good to go."

"Thank you Dr. Morton." Brice said.

Rodney waved. "See you later Brice!"

"Sure thing." Brice waved back, a smile on his face. Rodney was a nice kid. Hopefully his dream of becoming a police officer would soon be recognized.

"So, I see you made a friend."

Brice jumped. "Ah! Miss McCall, you scared me!"

"I'm sorry Brice." Miss McCall apologized.

"That's okay." Brice adjusted his glasses. "That was Rodney. He wanted me to ride in with him instead of Bellingham. The two of us are quite similar, it turns out."

"It's always nice when you can sympathize with a patient." Miss McCall said.

"Yeah." Brice agreed. "Anyway, I should organize the drug box before Bellingham comes back. We were called out before roll call, so returning to the station should be a high priority."

"I see." Miss McCall leaned on the countertop. So, how are things going with you and Bellingham?"

"There hasn't really been a substantial change from the last time we worked together." Brice admitted. "Captain Sutton actually called me into his office and reminded me that Bellingham and I are supposed to work together." Brice rolled his eyes as he started to organize the drug box. "I mean, of course we must, but it's like Sutton doesn't think I can handle myself like an adult. I totally can! It's not my fault people tend to dislike me! What am I supposed to do, master the art of hypnotism? And it's not like I don't think Bellingham is competent, he excels in certain areas that I do not as a matter of fact, but his methods are occasionally unorthodox and I believe that it's important to follow the rules as close as possible..."

"Do you need anything?" Miss McCall interrupted.

"Three bags of D5W would be nice." Brice answered. "You were listening to me though, right?"

"I understood the gist." Miss McCall brought Brice the D5W. "Would you like some advice about getting along with people?"

Almost everyone Brice respected had tried to give him advice at one time or another. It rarely worked. However, since it was Miss McCall, it was worth hearing her opinion. "If you feel that it's prudent."

"You tend to see how people act, but not understand why."

Brice frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, do you remember your first call as a certified paramedic?"

Brice winced. "September 3rd. Jenny Matthews, a kindergartener, was suffering from a possible ruptured appendix at school. You were...very, very disappointed at how I handled the situation."

Miss McCall nodded. "That's one way of putting it, I guess. You noticed that the girl was panicked, and she had plenty of reason to be. It was her first day of school and suddenly she's being taken to the hospital, a scary place, in a loud ambulance with a police officer and a fireman. Not only that, but she didn't have her mommy and daddy with her. You thought she was panicked because she didn't understand what was happening. You then decided to describe appendicitis to her in detail until the officer managed, with difficulty, to interrupt you…"

"I have a photographic memory, you don't need to remind me." Brice could feel his cheeks redden. "That was...a lamentable decision on my part. I am forever grateful that you yelled at...er, brought my mistakes to my attention."  _And I'm also grateful you didn't have me fired either,_ he thought.

"That's true," Miss McCall agreed, "but do you understand what I'm saying? When in doubt, listen to others. They will help you out."

"Alright." Brice had a thought. "But what if you think they're wrong?"

At that moment, Bellingham came around the corner. "Good morning Brice! You got the drug box all organized?"

"Of course." Brice shut the drug box. "It took little effort. Murry and Polenski always leave it alphabeticalized for me, even though they prefer a different format."

"How nice of them." Bellingham said. "Anway, I have a request for you."

"What is it?"

"Well…since we are going to be partners for awhile, I was thinking that maybe we should take turns driving the squad. And I'd like to take my turn and drive it back to the station." Bellingham suggested. "If that's okay with you."

Bellingham was the worst driver in the paramedic program. Brice started to protest but Miss McCall answered first. "I think that's a great idea!"

"But…" Brice stammered.

"It's only fair." Miss McCall pointed out.

Brice tried again. "Under normal circumstances it would be, but…"

"What's so extraordinary?" Miss McCall inquired.

Brice had the feeling that Miss McCall was not going to relent on this. Without further ado, he relinquished the squad keys.

"Thanks Brice!" Bellingham grinned from ear to ear.

"Go on and get comfortable." Miss McCall told Bellingham. "I just wanna have a quick word with Brice."

"Sure thing!" Bellingham ran off. "Woo!"

"No running in the hallway!" Brice called after him.

"Brice," Miss McCall said gently, "my second piece of advice is to not be a dictator. You don't have to make every decision, or be in charge of everything."

"But if I'm not in charge of everything…"

" _You don't have to be_." Miss McCall repeated.

"Okay, maybe not," Brice admitted, "but Bellingham is a terrible driver and I'm worried he's going to get us into trouble."

"But who gets ticketed, the driver or the passenger?"

"The driver, I guess." Brice took a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. "In lieu of flowers," he said, "I would like donations to the Fireman's fund."

"You'll be fine." Miss McCall whacked the drug box. "Now if I remember correctly, you left before roll call?"

Brice nodded. "That is correct. I will see you later, Miss McCall."

"Let me know how it goes, okay?" she asked.

"Will do." Brice steeled himself, and went to meet Bellingham in the squad. Hopefully, they could get back to the station without incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: From my understanding, it isn't usually procedure to start an IV on a broken arm except for some unusual circumstances, but as I recall, Dr. Morton was overzealous with his IV starting, as addressed in Season 6's Bottom Line. I assumed that he would error on the side of caution due to the head injury. If I got it disastrously wrong, feel free to PM me or let me know in a review. Again, I am not a medical expert.


	3. Back at the Station

 

Brice had to give Bellingham some credit for staying within the speed limit. That being said, Bellingham was still doing a terrible job. Every right hand turn threw Brice into the passenger door, and he had to clench his legs to stop from sliding every time Bellingham went left. He ignored the meaning of yellow lights and only started to stop when the light turned red. Brice held his tongue, but he did sigh on occasion to indicate his irritation in the hopes that Bellingham would get the hint and be more careful. Finally, Brice decided to speak up after Bellingham rolled through a stop sign.

"You know it says  _stop_ , not  _roll_ , right?"

"Right, sorry." There was another stop sign a block down. Instead of stopping like a normal person, Bellingham punched the brake at the last second, causing Brice's knees to slam into the dash. "Did that count as stopping?"

Brice rubbed his knees. "Technically I suppose it did, but…"

Bellingham cut Brice off. "I can accept technically. So, we have that Paramedic Advisory meeting coming up soon, yeah?"

Brice was a little miffed. "Um, yes. It will be on Wednesday. Station 16 is hosting it this time."

"Cool. Do we just discuss paramedic things?" Bellingham asked.

"Well, it is a Paramedic Advisory Committee. So yes. Although other members of the group...digress on occasion."

Bellingham shrugged. "Sometimes you have to throw in some levity. We aren't all as gung-ho as you. You kind of have this laser focus mentality."

Brice scoffed. "It's called the ability to stay on task. I can't be the only person who can do it."

"Yeah." Bellingham scratched his head, briefly leaving the 10-2 position. "The problem is, not everyone has the ability to discuss the same thing ad nauseam. Or stare at something ad nauseam. Or enforce the rules ad nauseam. It has nothing to do with staying on task. People just naturally need breaks."

Brice thought for a moment. "Politicians, television editors, policeman."

Bellingham furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

"Politicians discuss topics forever, video editors have to look at the same footage over and over again, and policeman enforce the rules as much as possible." Brice explained.

"Well, occasionally the police just issue warnings." Bellingham pointed out. "Like for a speeding ticket."

Brice made sure he was looking at Bellingham. "It is my worldview that the law should be enforced evenly and consistently. 'Letting people off' at one's choosing is just asking for trouble."

"Sometimes enforcing the rules takes a little bit of discretion." Bellingham argued.

"In what situation would you need discretion in enforcing the rules?" queried Brice.

Bellingham screwed up his face in concentration. "Er...um…well if it's your first speeding ticket...haven't you seen Adam 12?"

"That could just easily be built into the rules that the judge follows. That still would not excuse the police from writing the ticket. They have to do their duty, even if they don't want to. Furthermore, Adam 12 is just a television show."

"A television show based on real-life police!" Bellingham backed the squad into the station. "If you won't accept a show that takes from  _real life_ police stories as evidence, there are plenty of other examples!"

"Like?" Brice asked.

"Well…do you see the police pulling over every person going five miles over the speed limit?"

"They have to pick and choose their battles. There simply aren't enough policeman. But once they make the stop, they should follow through. Anything else?"

"There are plenty of other examples!" Bellingham insisted. "I just can't think of any right now!"

"Because there aren't any to think of." Brice said triumphantly.

Bellingham put the squad in park. "I'll make you a bet. One dollar says that I can find a situation in which the rules are frequently enforced with discretion by Wednesday. An example that you  _won't_  be able to adequately dispute."

Brice raised his eyebrows. "One dollar doesn't sound like you're very confident that you can."

"Fine, be like that. Three dollars." Bellingham stuck out his hand. "Do you want to shake on it?"

Brice didn't normally take bets, but he felt relatively safe making this one. Besides, if Bellingham was busy trying to find a situation where the rules were enforced with discretion that he couldn't refute (ha!), it would be a good way to keep him busy. Brice shook on it. "I will take you up on that bet."

Bellingham let go. "No take backs now."

"No take backs." Brice agreed. The two of them hopped out of the squad and headed to the day room. Thompson, Tucker, and Breckenridge were spread around the living area. Thompson was scratching his curly black hair, pouring over a recipe book. He was probably getting ready to make another traditional southern dish, his specialty. Breckenridge was sketching something out on a notepad. Brice fervently hoped he wasn't planning another prank. Tucker was reading the newspaper, slouched so far down that the only thing visible was the top of his red hair and a cloud of smoke. Sutton was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a stack of papers.

"How was the run?" he asked.

"The poor kid broke his arm jumping around on some rocks." Bellingham explained.

"He was really into dinosaurs." Brice said. "He had quite the expansive vocabulary for his age. He wanted to be a police officer when he grew up."

"He didn't tell me that!"

"I liked him." Brice added. "For a kid, he was well-spoken and had a great sense of perspective."

"It's nice when you can relate to people like that." Bellingham observed.

"Indeed." Brice agreed. "By the way, I invited Rodney to the station."

Sutton stopped mid-sip. "You did what now?"

"I invited Rodney to the station. That's the kid we rescued this morning." Brice was taken aback by his captain's reaction. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, no." Sutton shook his head. "I'm just surprised at your spontaneity, that's all."

"He specifically asked for me to ride in the ambulance with him, and he reminded me of me. I know you can't just invite every kid you treat to the fire station, but I had a moment of weakness."

Bellingham nodded in approval. "He was a nice kid."

"I did tell him to call before showing up." Brice twiddled his thumbs. "I hope that was okay."

"It's perfectly alright." Sutton told him. "Breckenridge can have another shot at giving a tour."

Breckenridge sighed. "I was doing great until I told that joke."

"It was a good joke." Tucker said. Brice watched his arm poke briefly around the newspaper to ash his cigarette. "My daughter tells me poop jokes like that all the time."

Brice didn't think so. "It was a completely inappropriate joke to tell at that time. Besides, the bathrooms are not the focal point of a station tour, or our jobs for that matter."

Thompson fiddled absently with the recipe book. "Good joke, bad timing."

Bellingham raised his hand. "Quick question, what was the joke?"

Breckenridge glanced over at Sutton. "Do you mind if I…"

Sutton thought it over. "Write it down and pass it to him."

Bellingham frowned. "Is it raunchy?"

"No, I just don't want to hear it again." Sutton put his hand on his forehead. "I spent an hour and a half that day discussing it with the principal. And then I had to talk about it with the chief. And with Leverson and Polenski. And with every other captain who caught wind of the whole debacle. I think it's long since worn out its welcome."

Breckenridge passed the joke to Bellingham. Bellingham gave a chuckle. "Not bad. Do you like poop jokes?"

"They aren't my favorite, but they're a solid number 2!"

Sutton put his face in his hands and groaned.

Tucker stubbed out his cigarette. "Maybe you shouldn't have given him latrine duty." he said. "He has too much material to work with now. It's like giving an arsonist a pack of matches."

"And I like latrine duty anyway." Breckenridge chimed in.

Sutton threw his hands in the air. "Well, the chief was just standing there, I had to come up with something on the spot. I don't think he was going to take 'you yelling at Tripp is enough of a punishment' for an answer."

Breckenridge rubbed the back of his neck. "Chief McConnike can be pretty scary when he wants to be. That did work well."

Bellingham held up the paper with the joke. "Tripp got latrine duty for  _this_?"

"It's a long story." Sutton glanced over at Breckenridge. "Do you want to tell him or do you want me to?"

Breckenridge leaned back in his chair. "Go ahead, bud."

"There's not much to tell, honestly. Tripp was giving a tour of the station, and he did a pretty good job introducing the engine and the squad. Then he reached the bathroom. He said something along the lines of, 'The fire house is like our home, so this is where we wash up,' and one of the kids, completely trying to disrupt the tour, blurted out , 'So, do you go to the bathroom then?' Tripp said yes, of course, and then told the bathroom joke. He kind of lost control over the kids after that. Which was okay, it was his second tour and I was right there, but the school's principal called to complain. And while I was talking with him, the chief pulled a surprise inspection and he got kind of mad…" Sutton winced. "You guys know the rest."

"I like latrine duty." Breckenridge repeated. "None of you guys know how to clean a toilet anyway."

Brice did know how to clean a toilet just as well as Breckenridge. If he voiced this however, he'd probably end up stuck with latrine duty instead of Breckenridge. Just because he was good at it didn't mean that he liked doing it.

"So, what happens when you do get in trouble?" Bellingham asked.

Breckenridge made a face. "It varies. Cap made me clean all the doorknobs and all the handles in the station once. Another time, he made me cut all the onions for a French onion soup."

"In all fairness, I was willing to let you wear my sunglasses. You said no."

"No offense Cap, but your sunglasses are dorky. I have my pride."

"Oh, onions. With chicken...this should be good." Thompson muttered to himself.

Breckenridge turned to Thompson. "You figure out our food yet, bud?"

"Yeah." Thompson nodded. "For lunch, I'm going to go with a simple grilled cheese and tomato soup combo. Not something I usually cook, but Teresa's been wanting that for a few days, and I want to get some practice in so I can surprise her."

"Sounds romantic." Breckenridge nudged him.

"Yeah." Thompson gave a shy grin. "For dinner, I was thinking about a stir fry of some sort. I'm going to wait until I see what's on sale, but right now I'm thinking a spinach and red onion stir fry with chicken. I figured I'd go with something easy so I can impress our new station member." he nodded at Bellingham.

"You sound like a better cook than me." Bellingham admitted. "My specialties are sloppy joes and walking tacos."

Brice frowned. "What's a walking taco?"

"Taco meat with chips and cheese." Bellingham rubbed his stomach and smiled. "Maybe I'll make it the next time I get kitchen duty."

Brice suppressed a groan. It sounded like Bellingham cooked as messily as he dressed. He made a mental note to make sure Bellingham bought extra napkins.

"Do you think now would be a good time to go to the grocery store, Cap?" Breckenridge asked.

"I don't see why not." Sutton turned to Brice and Bellingham. "Anyway, you two missed roll call. Nothing major today, just the usual, 'we have a new member spiel.' Which you ironically missed, Bob, but I digress. Brice, you have dorms, and Bob you have the apparatus bay. But first, I was wondering if the two of you could run a quick fire inspection."

"Sure thing." Bellingham said.

"Fine by me." Brice agreed.

"I'll be right back then." Sutton turned to leave. "I just need to grab some stuff from my office."

Brice turned to Thompson and took out his wallet. "How much do you need for groceries?"

"Probably about $3." Thompson answered. "Don't worry, I included a dinner desert in that number."

Brice paid the money. Bellingham did the same.

"Brice, Bob." Sutton came back with a pile of documents. "How would you two feel about doing a quick check up over at Carson State University?"

Brice could barely contain his glee. "Really?"

"They're a little overdue for an inspection." Sutton handed the documents to Bellingham. "These are the maps and previous citations. Although, Brice knows the place pretty well, you probably won't need either of those things."

"Sounds good, Cap." Bellingham wrapped the documents up in his arms.

"You two should be done by lunch time provided that, you know…"

"We don't get a run?" Brice finished.

"Are you trying to jinx us?" Breckenridge looked around frivolously, as if expecting the tones to drop any second.

"That's just a superstition." Brice reminded him. "Saying that we won't get a run does not increase the odds of us getting a run."

Breckenridge puffed out his cheek. "Even if it is bud, I don't want you to test it."

"Don't call me bud." Brice muttered. He decided to push Breckenridge around a little. "Oh, I hope you guys don't get a run!" It was a bit immature, but he had to start standing up for himself eventually.

The tones dropped. "Engine 16, Trash fire…"

Tucker threw down his newspaper. "Come on!"

"Really Brice?" his captain shook his head, disappointed.

"This is your fault!" Breckenridge shouted over his shoulder as the engine crew rushed to the truck.

Brice stood there, dumbfounded, as the engine drove away. "That never works."

Bellingham whistled. "I've only seen timing that good at Station 51."

"Weird things happen at Station 51."

"My personal theory is that some random guy passed away, got bored of the afterlife, and decided to mess with them. And then, some firefighter decided to dedicate his afterlife to getting them out of all the scrapes that guy puts them in. "

Brice rolled his eyes. "That would require ghosts. There's no such thing as ghosts."

Bellingham pointed at the klaxons. "So was that. Yet, I see it happen at Station 51 all the time!"

"It's scientifically impossible." Brice insisted. "Station 51 just has really bad luck. Anyway, since you have to review those papers, do you mind if I drive?"

Bellingham dug into his pocket and handed over the keys. "I guess that's okay."

"Thank you." Brice ran his fingers on the teeth of the keys. He was in control again, yes!

The duo slipped into the squad. "Do you need directions?"

Brice put the keys in the ignition. "Nope, I know the way by heart." And with that, he made a left turn to his old home-away-from-home, Carson University.


	4. Back to School

"So, why do you know so much about Carson University?" Bellingham asked.

Brice was distracted. "What?"

"Sutton implied that you really knew your way around. Did you go to university there?"

"Well, I went for about a semester and a half, but that was it."

"Really?" Bellingham sounded surprised.

"I intended to finish, and my dad wanted me to at least stay in college, but…" Brice trailed off. He didn't feel comfortable discussing the whole story with Bellingham. "My best friend from school, Biff, and I used to hang out here a lot. His father was a professor in the history department. I basically grew up here. It's like coming home."

"Interesting." Bellingham stroked his chin. "Can I ask why you choose the fire service?"

Brice hesitated. It was a logical question, but one he considered a private matter. Still, Bellingham had the right to know. He decided to opt for the short version of the story. "My biology class took a trip to a medical science exhibition. One of the inventions being shown off was a defibrillator. My professor mentioned a paramedic bill that had been passed. I…I thought it sounded like a good idea, so I became a fireman."

"I was already in the fire service when I heard about the paramedic program." Bellingham told him. "I was a boot and about to graduate when my captain brought it up. I'd seen a lot of...preventable deaths already, so I jumped on the ship. I was in the second class to graduate."

"That's interesting."

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." Bellingham agreed.

Brice turned the corner. They had arrived at Carson University. He parked the squad in the visitor's lot. "Well, this is it. If I recall correctly, we go to the president's office first. I think it's President Wilson, correct?"

"Looks like it, yeah."

Brice got out of the squad. Bellingham followed him. As the duo strode through campus, Brice took in the familiar landmarks: the front door, with its peeling green paint, the painted portrait of the university's founder, the gigantic tree out the window overlooking the main campus. Biff had tried many times to climb that tree, but to no avail. Brice would always tell him not to, worried that he'd break his neck, but Biff always ignored him. For a guy with pyrophobia so intense that he wouldn't even go into a room unless it had multiple exits, he was pretty gutsy. Brice felt a stab of nostalgia. He missed him.

"This it?" Bellingham asked.

Brice blinked. His autopilot had led him to President Wilson's office without him realizing it. "Um, yes."

Bellingham wrapped his knuckles on the door. "Come in!" a deep voice boomed. Bellingham pushed the door open. A tall, slender man was sitting behind a brown desk. The sun from the window behind him bounced off the varnish, making the desk glow.

"Well, if it isn't Craig! Nice to see you again!"

Brice squinted, trying to make out President Wilson's form. "Nice to see you again too."

"So they sent you to do the fire inspection." President Wilson came around the desk and stuck out his hand. Brice shook it, trying not to wince as President Wilson tightly squeezed his fingers. "Who's your friend here?"

"My name's Bob. Bob Bellingham." Bellingham shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine." President Wilson grabbed a stack of papers. "The students are on break, so there shouldn't really be anyone around. That should make things easier for you guys."

"Oh." Brice was disappointed.

President Wilson tried to reassure him. "I do think Professor Litchfield may be around here somewhere. He usually comes in around this time to feed his rats. And his snakes. And his gerbils. And his turtles…Craig, is there a fire regulation about how many animals one can own?"

"Professor Litchfield has always been within that limit." Brice answered. "Although, I assume we will be checking that again during the inspection."

President Wilson sighed. "Yeah." he crossed the room and pulled open the door. "I suppose we should get started. Hopefully we can finish by lunch."

"Thompson is making us grilled cheese and tomato soup." Brice told him.

"I see." President Wilson nodded politely. "Is this Thompson a good cook?"

"The best!" Brice proclaimed. "Although, this is his first time making it in awhile. He wants to practice so he can impress his girlfriend."

"Brice," Bellingham said kindly, "I don't think that he knows who Thompson is."

"Well-" Brice shut his mouth. It dawned on him that Bellingham was right.

President Wilson shrugged. "I'm sure your friend Thompson will do a good job. You can't mess up grilled cheese."

"Indeed." Brice cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So far, so good."

"That's good to hear." President Wilson said.

Most of the main building inspection passed by uneventfully. Brice found it rather hard to pay attention to the fire code violations. He was overwhelmed by memories. Biff running with him through the classrooms at age five and angering the janitor. Brice at age ten, accidentally finding a nude picture in a seemingly innocuous looking history book the librarian gave him. He could still hear the voice of his dad throwing a fit when he found out. Age twelve, the two of them snuck backstage in the auditorium to find a rumored bomb shelter apparently built sometime when they were babies. The drama teacher, Dr. Marlena, screamed when she saw them, and then lectured them about asbestos and mold growth and standing water. Biff at age fifteen in that same auditorium, passing out at a science presentation when the presenter demonstrated that a can of hairspray and a lighter made an impressive stream of fire. It had been on a school field trip and Brice, out of fear, had made the mistake of alerting the teacher, who panicked and alerted the entire auditorium of the incident. Their bullies had used the golden opportunity to viciously mock them. A week later, Brice punched one of them. It had, and still was, the only time he had punched someone. The only reason he didn't get in trouble was because the fact that the punch wasn't strong enough to produce actual blood and the principal didn't believe that a straight A student would actually punch someone.

"Um Brice, did you hear me?"

Brice jumped. "Sorry, what?"

Bellingham pointed at a smoke detector. "This appears to be detached from the wall. It needs to be fixed."

"Oh yeah, that's a citation." Brice scribbled down the citation, tore it off, and handed it to President Wilson. "You have thirty days to fix the violation…"

Brice had to pay more attention. Now was not the time to reminisce. But when the halls weren't filled with students, it was hard not to put his own memories there. He wished they had done this next week instead, where he could see a few of the professors that he had grown up knowing, see some classes in progress, learn new things. That's what he had gotten to do last year with Belliveau. But he supposed it made sense not to disturb the students.

They moved from the classrooms to the office buildings. It was good to find out that Mrs. Brown still worked in admissions. While she wasn't there, she still had the jar of peppermints on her desk, full to the brim. Every time she saw Brice, she would make sure to give him a nice handful. They were his favorite candy. Biff never had a taste for peppermints. He remembered the day he and Biff filed their admission papers to Carson University. She had given Brice extra peppermints and even had a few butterscotches for Biff. She was so proud of them. Of course, they had no way of knowing what would happen a few short months later.

Brice didn't regret the direction his life had ended up going afterwards, but it was hard not to think of what could've been.

The most intriguing part of the whole inspection was when they went over to King hall to inspect the teacher's offices. A lot of the names Brice were seeing were new. He recognized a few old ones though, including his cranky old English teacher, Dr. Grayson. He had been a new hire shortly before Brice's high school graduation, and had taken an instant dislike to him. Unfortunately for Dr. Grayson, he had a shelf of books right next to his door, just preventing it from opening all the way. An obvious fire code violation. Brice barely managed to stifle a grin as he wrote the violation out. He felt a little bad, and then he remembered Dr. Grayson laughing out loud when Brice introduced himself on the first day of class and mentioned that he liked reading science fiction.

"Science fiction?" he had snorted. "Ha! That's not real literature. That's baby stuff! We're in college now, we only read smart adult college books now. You got that?"

Brice felt his guilt melt away. He tore off the citation with a flourish. Besides, maybe moving that shelf could save the doctor's life someday.

The next hallway was the start of the history professors. President Wilson led the two firemen to the first door on the right. The nameplate read Professor E. Delaney.

"Um, is he around?" Brice asked.

"He went to Hawaii with his wife." President Wilson explained, opening the door.

Brice felt awkward stepping into Professor Delaney's office. It felt strange not seeing him sitting there grading tests and smoking a cigarette. He'd always put out the cigarette the instant he saw Brice, learning long ago that he hated the smell. Brice almost felt like he was breaking into his house.

"Anything in here?" President Wilson prompted.

"Doesn't look like it." Bellingham glanced around. He squatted in front of a shelf and squinted. "Say, this looks a lot like you, Brice. So do the boys in this pic-wait." Bellingham did a double take. "Do you have a twin?"

"I have a cousin." Brice walked over and looked at the pictures. The one on the left was a younger Biff, blond hair, six years old, blowing out his birthday cake. Brice was on the edge of the frame, glassesless, scrutinizing the cake with a fierce intensity, cheek puffed out. He must have been anxious to get a slice. Brice surmised that the picture must have been before the fire that destroyed the Delaney's house and left Biff with his crippling pyrophobia. "That is me at age six, with Biff."

"Your childhood best friend that you ran around the university with?"

 _My only best friend_ , Brice thought. He nodded. "Yes. Professor Delaney is Biff's dad, so he always keeps a few photos of him around."

Brice examined the picture on the right. Three boys in black graduation gowns stood in front of a red brick wall, holding each other's shoulders, smiling for the camera. Biff was on the far left, his graduation cap barely covering his thick mop of hair, his smile looking like an embarrassed grimace. Brice recognized himself in the middle. He was grinning ear to ear, happy to finally be out of the hell that was high school. He wore a white dress shirt and a black tie under his robes. His father had spent a lot of time ironing his graduation uniform so there would be no wrinkles. On the right was his cousin Tim, wearing an identical shirt, but a red tie. The two were frequently mistaken for twins, so Bellingham's error was understandable. "Um, that was taken right before my high school graduation ceremony. I'm in the center, my cousin Tim is on the right. We're the same age, but a few months apart, so we get confused for twins a lot. Some of our teachers thought that we shared the same parents too, since we both had the same last name. Made for some interesting situations. I was the older one, my birthday was February 15th. Tim was born May 8th. And that's Biff on the left, but I bet you already figured that one out. He was born June 3rd, if it matters…" Brice trailed off. He noticed the small purple bruise under Tim's eye, partially covered by his glasses. He felt his stomach clench. He had a copy of the photo, of course, but he had hidden it away in a drawer because it hurt to look at it. If only he had said something sooner, and Tim hadn't decided to take such an impulsive, drastic action...

Brice tore his gaze from the photo. Bellingham continued to stare intently at the photos. Brice frantically looked at them again, wondering what embarrassing tidbit Bellingham had discovered. Sick of waiting to find out, he decided to take the offense. "Look, I know I had some acne…"

"That?" Bellingham gestured to the dot on high school Brice's chin. "That's nothing. You should see  _my_  high school graduation photo."

"Then why are you staring so hard?"

"You just seem...different in these pictures."

Brice frowned. "Of course I seem different! I grew up!"

"Well yes, but..." Bellingham shook his head and stood up. "We should probably get going. We have Thompson's lunch to look forward to after all."

"That's true." Brice glanced back at the pictures as they turned to leave. All he saw was himself, and two people who he would never see again. But it did no good to dwell on the past. It was over now.

After King hall came the Edison science building, Brice's favorite part of the college. Biff was hesitant about going into Edison because of the Chemistry department, but every once in awhile, Brice could convince him to see Professor Litchfield's animals. Brice loved Professor Litchfield. He'd known him ever since his first day of work. Since then, to the dismay of President Wilson, his animals had gained a campus-wide reputation for escaping.

"Come back here you little rascal!" Professor Litchfield's high-pitched voice echoed in the hallway.

Brice stifled a chuckle. Sure enough, nothing had changed. He got on the floor, watched as a small grayish-white gerbil raced around the corner, and expertly scooped it up. A few seconds later, a short man with a round belly came racing around the corner. "Craig!" he panted. "Nice, to, see you, again!"

Brice gingerly stood up, gently grasping the squirming gerbil. "Good to see you again too Litchfield."

"I see, you've met, Bumper." Litchfield struggled to catch his breath.

"Bumper." Brice stroked the gerbil's back with his fingers. "Nice to meet you, Bumper."

Bumper gave off a series of squeaks. Brice could feel Bumper's pulse pounding. On reflex, he started to count the beats. If he recalled correctly, a gerbil's heart rate could be anywhere from 200-600 beats per minute. He lost count at around 310.  _Interesting_ , he thought. If he counted a heart rate like that in a human, he'd be racing to Rampart, only bothering to call them on the ambulance ride there. Life is strange.

Litchfield caught sight of the president and snapped to attention. "Hello. I was just trying to move Bumper into a different cage. I originally had him with Patches, but they, um…" Litchfield scratched the back of his head. "...I figured out that the pet store messed up and Patches was actually a girl gerbil, so I decided to break them up. I figured you didn't want more."

"You supposed correctly." President Wilson narrowed his eyes. "I've heard a lot of complaints about this...Bumper."

Litchfield wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Oh, you have?"

"Squeaking during class, knocking over his gerbil wheel, frequent escapes, scaring a prominent guest that had come all the way from New York city to give a talk on book publishing, crawling into a student's lunch and eating it…" President Wilson cocked his head. "Shall I go on?"

"No sir."

President Wilson pointed at Bumper. "You need to get rid of that gerbil. Do you understand me?"

"Sir-"

"I want it out of this university by the end of next week." President Wilson decreed. "I don't care if you give it back to the pet store, give it to a student, or use it as food. I want it gone. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir." Litchfield answered dejectedly.

 _Feeding Bumper to another animal?_  Brice thought.  _That's harsh_. He switched to stroking Bumper's head. He seemed a lot more calm now, probably because he'd quit running and didn't understand English.

"I'm sure my station can find a home for it." Bellingham interjected.

Brice stopped petting Bumper. "Bellingham, we aren't allowed to have animals at our station."

"Well, other stations have dogs." Bellingham pointed out.

"Yes, but Captain Hawkins on the C shift is deathly allergic to dogs." Brice explained. Bumper started to squeak again, so Brice started to play with his tail. Bumper seemed to like that. He was a good gerbil, but rules were rules. "Also, Ritcher from the B shift is allergic to cats."

"Well, a gerbil is neither a cat or a dog." Bellingham reasoned. "Since they're not explicitly illegal, maybe Sutton would let us have Bumper?"

"Where would we put him?" Brice shot back.

"Easy, gentlemen." Litchfield held up his hands. "President Wilson gave me a week to figure out what to do with it. How about you guys ask your captain and get back to me, okay?"

"Sure." Bellingham agreed. "That sounds reasonable. Brice, can I pet Bumper now?"

Brice held out his hand towards Bellingham. Bellingham gently petted the gerbil. "Hey there little guy. You're kind of cute. I won't let you be someone's dinner.  _No I won't_. Your cheeks are so-ouch!" Bellingham drew his hand back and put his finger in his mouth. Bumper had decided to have a taste of Bellingham's finger. "That hurt!" he muttered through clenched teeth, finger wrapped on the inside of this cheek.

Brice barely managed to disguise his laughter as a coughing fit. He had a feeling Bellingham wasn't fooled.

"Here, I'll take Bumper back now. You guys should probably get back to your inspection." Litchfield held out the cage. Brice obediently put him back inside.

Bellingham took his finger out of his mouth and rubbed it on his pant leg. "It was nice to meet you, Professor Litchfield." He held out the same hand that he just had in his mouth.

Litchfield opted to nod politely instead. "It was nice to meet you too."

"We'll be inspecting your room soon." Brice said.

"I look forward to it." Litchfield waved and headed for the elevator. "See you soon, Craig."

"See you soon." Brice gave a small wave back. He'd have to wash his hands at the next sink they saw. Gerbils were cute, but they were dirty.

Hygiene needs fulfilled, they continued with the inspection. Overall, the science lab did pretty good. The chemistry lab had their chemicals stored correctly and their bunsen burners were functioning properly. The only citation was a door in a supply closet that took a few too many tugs to open. Then it was up the stairs to the biology department. Most of the biology teachers didn't have animals, and none of them had as many animals as Litchfield.

"Craig!" Litchfield greeted him. He had a rattlesnake, the head in his hand, the tail resting on the back of his neck. "It's good to see you again!"

Brice eyed the snake nervously. "Yeah, good to see you too, um...can you not have that snake out?"

"Cool, a snake!" Bellingham walked over to Professor Litchfield. "Can I hold it?"

"Sure thing!" Litchfield unwrapped the snake from his neck and passed it to Bellingham. "Be careful, it's venomous."

"Awesome!"

Brice focused on the inspection, trying not to think about the fact that the drug box and biophone were all the way back in the squad. He started by examining the wire to Litchfield's giant fish tank.

"I've never been this close to a wild animal before." Bellingham remarked out loud.

"Do you want it around your neck?" Litchfield asked.

"Sure!" Bellingham agreed.

"Um, maybe you shouldn't put a venomous snake around your neck on duty?" Brice timidly suggested.

"Yeah, you have a point." Bellingham admitted reluctantly. "I am on duty."

"Lighten up Brice!" Litchfield said. "How many times in his life is Bellingham going to be able to hold a snake."

"Not often," Brice conceded.

"I should help him with the fire inspection." Bellingham sighed. "I mean, it's not fair to make him do this all by himself."

Brice couldn't help but notice Bellingham's shoulders sag. He really wanted to hold that snake, didn't he. "No, no, it's fine. I can handle it."

"You sure? Because this is a big room and I don't want to-"

"It's fine." Brice insisted. Besides there technically wasn't a rule that said don't put animals around your neck on duty. And if Bellingham was determined to do this, why should Brice's ophidiophobia stand in the way? "Just...have fun with the snake."  _I can't believe I said that._

"Alright then." Bellingham steeled himself. "Go ahead, professor!"

Brice couldn't bear to watch. He shuddered and turned away.  _Please don't let it bite him please don't let it bite him, please don't let it bite him_. He looked behind the turtle cages to check their sun lamp plugs. No fraying here either. The gerbils looked okay, as did the area around the cages, no fire code violations there. He couldn't help but notice that Litchfield had less animals than when Brice was a kid. President Wilson must have really cracked down on him. It was a shame really. Brice's favorite part of his biology class was having Litchfield show him real-life examples. It was a shame that Bellingham had never received the same opportunity that he had.

Bellingham laughed. "He's warm! This is weird! I thought snakes were cold blooded creatures."

Litchfield nodded. "Snakes are cold blooded creatures, like most reptiles. However, the term cold blooded is a bit of a misnomer. The technical term is ectotherms. That means that the snake doesn't make its own body heat, and relies on the sun for warmth. That's why you won't see a lot of snakes moving on a cold day. Because this snake was under a heat lamp, it's still warm."

"Huh. You learn something new everyday, I guess."

"Humans are endotherms." Brice added, examining the fire extinguisher. It appeared to be up to date. "We make our own body heat." He was surprised that Bellingham didn't know this. It was one of the first things he had learned in science class.

"I see." Bellingham stroke the snake on its tail end. "What's his name?"

"Charlie." Litchfield answered.

"Charlie…" Bellingham mused.

"Like in  _Charlie in the Chocolate Factory_!"

"Oh." Bellingham sounded more relaxed. "I took my niece to the movie version awhile back. She liked it so much I gave her the book for her birthday. I read it first though because I'm a cheapskate. It's pretty good."

"I know, right?"

Brice did the last bit of the inspection. Everything looked good to him. "You've passed, Litchfield."

"That's good to hear." Litchfield took the snake from Bellingham. "Sorry for stealing your partner away from you."

"No problem." Brice was just glad that he didn't need to call for an ambulance.

"That was fun!" Bellingham looked extremely giddy. "Thank you so much!"

"My pleasure." Litchfield put Charlie back in his cage. "Always glad to teach someone something."

Bellingham washed his hands in the sink. "What do we have left?"

"I think we just have the basement left." Brice said. "I think it's mostly maintenance tunnels."

Bellingham dried his hands and glanced over the papers. "Yeah, you're right."

"I've never been down there." Litchfield looked at President Wilson. "Is there any chance that…"

The president shook his head. "No."

Litchfield visibly deflated. "Okay."

"You don't want to go down there anyway." Brice reassured him. "It smells terrible."

"He's right." President Brown took the basement keys out of his pocket. "We should get going."

"You should come back and visit Craig!" Litchfield waved. "And bring your friend too."

 _He's not my friend, I don't think he even likes me_. "Sure thing." Brice promised. He could always come back on his own.

"Thanks for letting me hang with Charlie!" Bellingham said.

"No problem!" Litchfield smiled. "Come back soon!"

Professor Wilson lead them towards the elevators. "This the last place we have to go to?"

"Yes." Brice confirmed. "The dorms are on 32s side."  _Thankfully_ , he thought to himself. He had heard strange stories about the going-ons of students after the sunset. One of his most memorable calls at 16 was a washer that had caught fire when a freshman was doing laundry on the first day of classes.** He was thankful he didn't have to deal with the dorm shenanigans on a regular basis.

"Ah yes!" President Wilson exclaimed. "They're coming later today. I forgot." he called the elevator, and they stepped inside. President Wilson turned a key into a slot and his the "B" button for the basement. The elevator lurched downward, and the doors opened. President Wilson flicked on the basement light. Brice wrinkled his nose as the putrid odor of the basement hit him. It smelled almost like a sewer, although he could not fathom why. He glanced at Bellingham to see his reaction.

Bellingham raised his eyebrows. "I can smell that." he looked surprised. "Wow, that's pungent."

Brice's eyes began to water. "What, you normally can't smell stuff?"

Bellingham shook his head. "No. I rarely smell anything. Or taste anything for that matter. Is it really bad?"

 _That explains a lot_. Brice gave up his tough man facade and hid his nose in his undershirt. "Yes."

"Well, a fireman's gotta do what a fireman's gotta do, right?"

"As long as you guys do it quickly." President Wilson plugged his nose. "I want to get out of here as soon as possible."

The maintenance tunnels that ran under the school were tight and cramped. Brice almost tripped several times. Fortunately, Bellingham caught him every single time. Brice tried to thank him, but his involuntary wince at being touched made Bellingham apologize every time he did it, making Brice feel even more awkward at having to be saved. The smell was starting to drive Brice crazy, and the tunnels were becoming more and more claustrophobic. Brice was glad for his photographic memory. He couldn't imagine having to find anyone lost in this.

Finally, they reached the end of the tunnels. "We're under the English department now." President Wilson explained. They had reached a long hallway with a red door to the left. President Wilson fished out a second set of keys. "This is where the Carson University academic press keeps their inventory." He pushed the door open.

"Eep!" A balding man with pepper gray hair jumped in the air, dropping the books in his arms. "You scared me!" He bent down to pick the books up.

President Wilson grimaced. "Sorry Dr. Grayson. These firefighters are here for an inspection."

"Oh, that nice…" Dr. Grayson's eyes narrowed. "Craig Brice."

Brice looked his former English teacher dead in the eye. "Dr. Grayson."

"Hi!" Bellingham started to gush. "You've got a lovely set up here. What kind of books do you publish? How long have you guys been a press? How much backstock do you have?"

The tension in the air dissipated. Dr. Grayson adjusted his glasses. "How nice of you to take an interest in our press! We've been around for about a decade. This is all of our backstock. We publish a variety of academic stuff. You'll find science books, history books, we published a popular one about what's on the moon back in 1965...which makes it obsolete now, but we like to think of ourselves as a forward-thinking academic press."

"Cool." Bellingham started to examine the shelves on the far end of the storage room. "So, any cool books you're going to publish soon?"

Brice went left and tuned out their discussion. So far, so good. Everything appeared to be alright. That was until he turned the corner and saw the gap under the stairs, partially hidden by some boxes. Brice gently shifted them aside, only to find a gigantic pile of bubble wrap. His eyes widened. This was the absolute worst place to store it. If there was a fire, the flammable material would make exiting extremely treacherous. He scribbled out the citation.

"Brice," Dr. Grayson came up behind him, "what are you doing?"

Brice handed him the paper. "According to Section 1028.3 of the fire code, combustibles are not allowed to be stored in corridors and in exit stairs. Bubble wrap counts as combustible storage."

"That's ridiculous!" Dr. Grayson sputtered. He shoved the citation back at Brice. "That's so little bubble wrap! Why would that matter?"

"Don," President Wilson said gently, "I think that a fireman would be the most likely man to know the fire code…"

"He's taking it to seriously! When has bubble wrap killed anyone?" Dr. Grayson threw his hands in the air. "It's such a little amount too!"

Brice clenched his jaw. "With all due respect-"

"You're just citing me because you didn't like that I gave you a C minus in freshman composition."

"While I'm still angry about that, that has no effect on how I do my job, I am more mature than you're insinuating."

"I'm not insinuating, I'm…"

"Wait a second." Bellingham interjected. He pushed the bins behind him, fully exposing the bubble wrap. He pushed it down a little. The size of the pile barely shrunk. "I'd have to slide with Brice here. This is enough to be a hazard."

Dr. Grayson didn't seem willing to concede defeat. "You're not pushing hard enough."

"He's doing fine!" Brice protested. "Besides-"

Bellingham held up his hand. "Easy, easy."

Brice took a deep breath in and slowly let it out.

Bellingham stroked his chin a few times, thinking. "So, you don't think I'm pushing hard enough. If I were to, say, apply a large force across this pile, would you accept the citation?"

"I suppose I would." Dr. Grayson begrudgingly agreed.

Without further ado, Bellingham rolled himself onto the pile of bubble wrap. Amazingly, the pile held him up. "This is awesome!" the plastic crinkled as Bellingham shifted around. "It's almost like I have my own bed down here!" He put his hands behind his head and crossed his legs. "This is actually pretty good on my back. Huh, who knew? Hey Brice, you think Sutton will let us make our own bubble wrap beds?"

Brice was speechless. "Um...er…"

Bellingham answered his own question. "Probably not. They'd be a pain to maintain. Oh well." Bellingham sighed. "It's kind of dusty down here." Bellingham added. "Not a fire code violation, but you might need to do some sweeping. Can't be good for the bubble wrap either, honestly."

"I-" all the fight seemed to leave Dr. Grayson. "I'll get around to that."

President Wilson turned to Dr. Grayson. "Will you accept the citation now? I'd like to get some lunch in before 32s comes to inspect the residence halls."

Dr. Grayson sighed. "Yes."

Brice wrote him a new citation, and gave him the spiel. Dr. Grayson took it without further complaint.

Bellingham stood up. "Well, we should get going." Bellingham ran up the stairs. "It was nice to meet you guys, and look around the place. Ready for lunch, Brice?"

Brice pushed his tongue against his teeth in an effort not to laugh. Bellingham's backside was covered in a thick layer of dust. He hoped Dr. Grayson hadn't noticed, it would make Bellingham's victory a bit less triumphant. "You bet." Brice just barely managed to answer with a straight face. He'd wait until they were out by the squad to tell him.

As he followed them out, Brice couldn't help but reflect on how many crazy situations Bellingham had gotten himself into just on that trip. As entertaining as the entire bubble wrap debacle had been, he secretly hoped that wouldn't be a trend. Brice wasn't sure that he could handle the uncertainty of a crazy partner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these incidents are based on some personal stories:
> 
> *Bumper is based on a gerbil my high school biology teacher had. His gerbil antics were legendary.
> 
> **My second day of college senior year, someone accidentally set fire to a washer while washing their clothes. Yes, the washer and not the dryer. I don't know how, but I have confirmed that it does happen sometimes.
> 
> ***The bubble wrap scene is based on a true story as well. Without revealing too much, someone I knew was cited for exactly that, bubble wrap being stored under the exit stairs. And I was able to lay on it, it felt good but I ended up getting covered in dirt while cleaning it out. I thought it was a silly thing to get cited for until I saw how excessive it was. It was about 5 trash cans worth of bubble wrap. Not only that, but it was the only exit in and out of the building, and very, very flammable. Yeah, not good, definitely needed that citation. Never met the firemen who wrote the real-life citation, but I imagine that they got quite a chuckle out of it. It's not often that you see a gigantic pile of bubble wrap.
> 
> ****Not a true part, but something I want to point out: Squad 51 does briefly visit a university in Paperwork (Season 6 episode 11) but it's nameless. I (very) loosely based Carson State University on that. It's not a real place.


	5. Finally, Grilled Cheese!

 

Brice risked glancing out of the squad window. Bellingham was still attempting to wipe the remaining dust off his back with a fire blanket. He was checking himself in the squad's side mirrors, making ridiculous positions as he did so.

Brice ran his hand over his face. "Are you finished yet?"

Bellingham turned around and started to dust off his butt. "In a minute. I think, it's kind of hard to tell."

Brice looked away. He sighed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Was Bellingham's acrobatics really worth a clean squad car?

Bellingham started to rub the fire blanket between his legs like he was flossing his teeth.

Brice had only anticipated Bellingham taking about thirty seconds to dust himself off. Maybe having him clean off in the parking lot wasn't the best idea. "You're clean enough!" Brice yelled.

"You sure?" Bellingham balled up the blanket. "Because you were making a pretty big stink about getting dirt in the squad."

Brice gritted his teeth. "Just get in." Maybe Sutton was right. Some battles just weren't worth the fight.

Bellingham opened the squad door and sat down, placing the dirty blanket between his knees. "So... when do I get to drive?"

Brice threw the squad in reverse. "Later." he answered vaguely.

"Well, I was kind of under the impression that we'd be dividing the driving equally." Bellingham paused. "You do remember agreeing to that, right?"

Brice hesitated. As he understood it, Bellingham had only wanted to drive that one time. He didn't recall the arrangement being permanent.

 _You don't have to be a dictator, Brice._ Dixie's words echoed in his mind.

Brice decided to concede. "You can do the driving on the next call."

"Sounds good to me." Bellingham nodded in approval.

Brice turned his attention back to the road. Glancing ahead, he could see a row of tiny orange flags. A funeral procession. "Hey Bellingham, I know you were looking forward to lunch, but do you mind if we stop for a bit?

"For the procession? Sure." Bellingham answered. "I don't have a problem with that."

Brice pulled over to the side of the road.

Bellingham leaned forward and clasped his hands. "They got the door open and a flag on the casket. Looks like a military funeral."

"It could be a police funeral." Brice pointed out.

Bellingham shook his head. "Not enough patrol cars."

"That's true." Brice watched the cars drive by, headlights flashing, flags flapping. He watched all the other cars passed them. His mind wandered to a different funeral procession, several years earlier.

Craig can still remember the stiffness of the stitches over his right eyebrow and the tug of the wrappings on his right leg as he jiggles it. The doctor had given very specific instructions not to mess with his bandages, lest he get a scar. Not that it mattered, Craig ended up with two scars that day anyway;one on his forehead and one in his heart that was never going to go away. He loosened his tie. He was pretty sure that Biff wouldn't have cared if he put it on or not, but his mother was very insistent on that. "It's what one wears to a funeral, Craig. Biff's parents will appreciate it."

 _Like wearing some stupid tie will make any of this better_.  _Or bring their son back._ But Brice had never been one to argue with his mother, and he wasn't about to start a fight over something so trivial.

Biff was right in front, after the patrol cars. So near, yet so far. Craig couldn't bear to look at the hearse. He's surprised that he was even invited to the funeral. After all, he's partially responsible for his best friend's death, and he's sure that the Delaney's share that sentiment. He settled for looking out the window, watching the cars rush by.

"Why aren't any of them stopping?"

Craig's parents jumped. He couldn't blame them. Except for complaining about the tie, he hadn't really spoken since they came to pick him up at the hospital. "Why aren't any of them stopping?" he asked again. Maybe he misunderstood the rule. "Cars are supposed to yield to a funeral procession, right? They're not yielding."

"Maybe they have somewhere important they need to be." Craig's mother suggested. "Like the hospital. Or the dentist."

"All fifteen—" Craig paused as another set went by, "eighteen of them?"

"Well, you never know." his mother said quietly. She's always been an optimist, but even she realized that was a bit of a stretch.

Craig's father cleared his throat. "Sometimes, people decide that their needs are more important than anyone else's. It's not very nice, but that's the way of the world sometimes."

Another car zooms by. Craig could actually hear the booming of the radio. "Nobody cares, do they?" He could feel himself get worked up. It felt nice after not saying anything for so long. "Except for us and the Delaneys. Nobody actually cares!"

"Now Craig..." his father started to say something, but Craig cut him off.

"Sure, some of the Carson professors came, but I'm sure it was just because Mr. Delaney told them to. Nobody from school even bothered to come! None of my high school teachers, none of our classmates…"

"Well, not all of your classmates knew Biff." his mother pointed out.

"You think at least some of the teachers would have showed up!" Craig yelled. "Or maybe the principal! Or the superintendent!"

"Maybe they weren't informed?" his mother sounded less certain now.

"Tim didn't even show up." Craig's voice cracked. "We're best friends, we're  _cousins_ , he should've shown up!"

Craig watched as his parents glanced at each other. He recognized the look.  _They're hiding information from me. They know something about Tim, and they're scared to tell me._ Craig desperately wanted to pry further, but the rant had worn him out. He turned toward the window again, tears streaming down his face. He felt his stitches tug again. He suspected he was stretching them.

He's not even sure why everyone's non-attendance matters so much. He's never been fond of his classmates, they're either vapid, shallow, or bullies. Maybe he just wants to talk about Biff with someone. Not about his death, but his life. They could reminisce about his daredevil nature, his gift of dry humor, or his love for practical jokes. They could talk about his laugh, his smile, his smirk, the way his eyebrow rose right before his witty comeback. Biff was the only person Craig had ever understood, outside of his immediate family. The only thing he didn't understand was Biff's persistent (and failed) attempts at getting a girlfriend. Craig had always wondered why he kept trying after getting dumped on so many times. He wished that he'd thought to ask.

He angrily dabbed at his face. Even if his entire school had shown up, the only people he would want to talk to about Biff with were Biff and Tim. But neither of them are here now. And neither of them will ever be. He's alone.

Brice blinked a few times, trying to hold back tears. It still hurts to remember that day, and it probably will until the day he dies. The funeral marked the end of his childhood, of his days being known as Craig. He went by Craig a little bit in college. Once he started the fire academy, the trainers started to refer to him as Brice. He went with it. First of all, Brice had better rhyming potential than Craig. Brice was nice. Brice is alright. Brice always looks twice before crossing the street. Craig on the other hand had a very vulgar rhyme that he had been put to use his entire school life.

More importantly, the distance of his last name also made it clear that he wasn't really into fraternizing. Being a fireman meant making peace with the fact that everyday could be your last day. When he'd signed up, he'd done so with the intent of helping people, but that didn't change the grim reality of his job. Death was a constant threat in his line of work, and it didn't seem like the best use of time to learn about anyone that might not be there tomorrow.

One dead friend was enough for him. He didn't need any more.

Besides, why try when no one wants to talk to you anyway?

Brice could see the two flags on the back of the car signaling the end of the procession. He glanced over at Bellingham. Bellingham seemed to be lost in thought.

"Ready for lunch?" Brice asked.

Bellingham gave a start. "Um, yeah. Lunch. It'll be tasty."

"Thompson is a good cook. I don't even think he even needs to practice making grilled cheese." Brice confessed.

"Definitely doesn't need the practice." Bellingham agreed. "Caleb's a good cook."

"Indeed." Brice thought for a minute. "So, you two have met before then?"

"Nope, we've never met."

Brice frowned. "I see."  _He must not have been paying attention to me_. Brice put the squad into drive, wondering what in the world had Bellingham so distracted.

 

* * *

 

 

The instant Brice set the squad in park, Bellingham leapt out of the car and made a beeline for the kitchen. Brice hung back for a bit. First, he took the fire blanket outside and replaced it with a new one. Then, he got out a vacuum, stretched on the squad floor and started to clean every bit of dust in the squad. A minute later, he saw a pair of black shoes next to the squad.

"Brice, could you turn off that vacuum?"

Brice obediently flicked the switch and sat up. Thompson squatted down. "I made lunch."

"I know," Brice said, "but this needs to be done first."

"A little dirt never hurt anyone." Thompson ran his fingers over the seat and examined them. "That being said, how the heck did the squad get so dirty?"

"Well, it's a long story." Brice told him.

"Maybe you can tell it to me over a grilled cheese and tomato soup." Thompson suggested. "I made the soup myself and I'm going to make it again for Teresa tomorrow, so I'd really like your opinion."

Brice looked at the vacuum in his hands. "I should really finish this."

"The squad will be here later." Thompson pointed out. "Based on how many grilled cheeses Tripp has eaten so far, I'm not sure the food will be." Thompson laughed. "Tripp eats more than my brothers put together."

Brice had really hoped to eat after everyone else was done, but Thompson was making a convincing argument. Brice had also heard some station chatter that Thompson wanted to tie the knot with Teresa. He supposed it would be rude not to help him impress her, especially at such a critical time in their relationship. "Anyone can make grilled cheese." Brice said, "and I'm sure you did fine on the soup. But if you really want me too, I guess I can eat now."

"Great!" Thompson stood up. "I'll grab you a plate.

Brice followed him into the kitchen. Everyone was laughing. "Brice," Tucker asked, "how much bubble wrap was there under the stairs?"

Brice shrugged. "Probably enough to make a few decent sized piles."

"A few decent sized piles?" Bellingham snorted. "That amount of bubble wrap could've wrapped half the army!"

Everyone burst out laughing again. Brice sat down between Sutton and an empty chair. Thompson sat down next to him and handed him a plate.

"Enough about our run." Bellingham said. "You guys got called out to a trash fire, right?"

"Uuuuggghhhh." Breckenridge slumped in his seat. " _That_ call."

"Sit up at the table." Sutton told him.

Breckenridge complied, but his right cheek was still puffed out.

Sutton turned to Bellingham. "Are you aware of the arsonist that's been 'hanging around' Station 32 and our station's areas?"

Bellingham stuffed his face with a grilled cheese. "No sir." he answered, spewing out a few crumbs.

"I suppose not. He's not doing anything quote on quote 'newsworthy'." Sutton explained. "He mostly starts small fires with firecrackers. Nothing we can't handle, but a pain in the butt."

"Wish the police would take him more seriously." Tucker lamented. "So as long as he doesn't burn down any buildings, he's not their problem."

"Or she." Breckenridge interjected.

Tucker snorted. "When was the last time you saw a girl running around with fireworks?"

"My sister Molly ran around with cigar lighters." Breckenridge said.

"My point is," Tucker continued, "that fireworks aren't the safest things to be playing with. One of these days, he's going to cause some real damage, whether he wants to or not. I mean, you guys saw how much trash was in that bin and how close it was to the building, right? And those power lines! If we hadn't gotten there when we did…"

"We saw," Thompson gently interrupted, "but the important thing is that the fire stayed in the trash bin. We put it out."

Tucker scowled. "It set fire to some neighboring bushes, I'm still surprised that none of the fireworks hit the power lines-"

"Tucker," Sutton gently interrupted, "there's no use dwelling on what we can't control. We have to trust that things will work themselves out, and that these fires will stop."

Brice didn't share the same optimistic view as Sutton. Usually, letting things work themself out only resulted in things working exactly the way you  _didn't_ intend them to work.

"Alright." Tucker answered dejectedly. Tucker appeared to share Brice's settiment, but it seemed that he didn't want to contradict his captain.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Caleb, your tomato soup is amazing!" Bellingham broke the tension, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "You made it yourself?"

"Yeah." Thompson rubbed the back of his neck.

"Brice was right. You are a good cook."

Brice could feel his cheeks redden as Thompson looked at him. "You think so?"

"Well, it's true, unless you cook something too spicy." Brice dipped the edge of his grilled cheese in the soup, making sure to shake off the excess. "But even then it's usually kind of good. Just painful to eat."

Thompson blinked. "Um,thank you."

"You're welcome." Brice took a bite of his sandwich. He couldn't help but notice everyone looking at him. He stirred his soup with his spoon. "What?" He must have said something odd again. But all he had said was thank you. What could be wrong with that? There was a reason why he tried to take his meals alone.

Bellingham came to the rescue again. "You said you were making chicken-something-or-other for dinner?"

"A chicken stir fry with spinach and red onions." Thompson said. "I also got us some Baklava."

"Balaclava?" Bellingham asked.

"Baklava." Brice corrected him. "A balaclava is a garment that only exposes the mouth, nose, and eyes. For example, a ski mask. Baklava is a desert pastry from the middle east filled with nuts and honey." Brice didn't like nuts and would be skipping the desert but that part wasn't relevant.

"Yeah." Thompson shrugged. "Peter recommended the Baklava to us. Apparently they were throwing some out one day, and a coworker gave him a piece. Said it was good."

"Peter?" Bellingham asked.

"My twin brother." Thompson smiled. "You'll probably meet him soon;he works at Zullman's, the grocery store closest to the station."

"You have a twin?" Bellingham grinned. "That's sweet!"

"Yeah, well." Thompson drummed his fingers on the table. "I should probably warn you that he's...well…um...er…"

Breckenridge patted Thompson's shoulder. "An amazing and fun person to be around."

"Yeah, that's true." Thompson smiled wanly. "But you might think he's a little odd. In a manner of speaking."

Bellingham set his spoon in his now empty bowl and wiped a stray drop of tomato off his chin. "Socially awkward?"

"Among other things." Thompson scratched the back of his neck. "He's kind of like an overgrown kid sometimes, you know?"

"I think I get the picture." Bellingham nodded. "He sounds like a nice person. Does he like working at Zullman's?"

Thompson chuckled. "He loves it. I remember the first day he finished working. My brother Simon and I picked him up together. He spent the whole time talking about how to find the bad vegetables in a shipment. I mean, we hit traffic on the way home, so there was some repetition in there, but honestly his enthusiasm was fun to watch. And thankfully, he's still as enthusiastic about his job as he was that first day."

"Which came first?" Bellingham asked. "You working at Station 16 or him at Zullmans?"

"Me at the station." Thompson grinned. "I still remember his face the day he realized that firemen make grocery trips and I would be coming to shop there...the instant he saw me, he ran across the store screaming my name and gave me a great bear hug. Still does, now that I think about it."

"That's awesome!" Bellingham chuckled. "My brother just gives me noogies."

"Oh, he gives me those too." Thomson rolled his eyes. "I mean he asks first, but  _man_ he gives a rough noogie."

"He asks?" Bellingham sounded dumbfounded. "I'm jealous. Jack will just sneak up and do it. He even gave me a noogie when he was on duty once, he's a cop. A woman saw and gave my brother a good talking to…" Bellingham burst out laughing. "...I had to show her my ID to prove that I was his brother and we were just messing around."

Everyone had a good laugh. Brice allowed himself a small smile, but quickly quashed it. He finished the last of his food and stood up. "Delicious. I should go work on the squad now."

"You should hang around here for a bit longer." Sutton suggested. "Maybe have a second helping?"

"After I clean the squad, I have to make the dorms." Brice responded.

"Well yeah,you do," Sutton conceded, "but…"

The tones dropped. "Squad 16, woman fainted. 116 Pinehurst, 116 Pinehurst. Time out, 14:56."

Brice opened the passenger side door. He tried not to think about the dirt on the seat. A promise was a promise, after all. Bellingham thumped into the driver's seat, and they were off.

 

* * *

 

One haphazardus drive later, Bellingham pulled into 116 Pinehurst. Brice slid out of the passenger's side, hoping that his butt didn't have any dirt on it. Hopefully, the situation at hand would be sufficient distraction for everyone.

Bellingham knocked on the door. "Fire department!"

A man in a worn, plaid robe opened the door. "Thank God. My wife's in the kitchen."

Bellingham led the way. Brice followed and set up the biophone. A woman in her early thirties was laying on the floor, her head propped up by a blue towel. Bellingham knelt down to do the vitals while Brice opened the biophone.

The man grabbed Brice's arm. "Is that the phone that lets you talk to a doctor?"

"Yes." Brice answered curtly, peeling the man's fingernails out of his skin. He couldn't help but notice the hospital band around the man's right wrist.

"Sorry, sorry." the man muttered.

"Brice," Bellingham alerted him, "she's coming around."

The woman on the floor was slowly blinking her eyes.

"Are you alright, Mary?"

"Fred?" Mary asked groggily. "What happened?"

"Well…" Fred rubbed his throat. "Are you feeling better?"

"You asked me to look in your mouth…" Mary made a face. "It was terrible in there!"

Brice was busy describing the situation to Rampart. "Rampart, we have a woman, early thirties, who has just regained consciousness after fainting. Standby for vital signs."

Bellingham pulled out a flashlight. "Sir, do you mind if I look in there?"

"Alright." Fred rolled his eyes and opened his mouth.

Brice took the new vitals for Mary.

"Um…" Bellingham gulped. "Did you have any surgery recently?"

"I had my tonsils taken out, yeah."

"I-I see."

"Your partner's looking a little green." Mary whispered.

"He's a professional." Brice reassured her as he grabbed the biophone to pass the vitals. "He's fine."

"You, uh…" Bellingham cleared his throat. "You got some postoperative bleeding here."

"A little bit." Fred agreed. "But it's not that bad, is it?"

"Sweetheart, it's  _so much blood_." Mary told him. "Maybe you should get seen."

"Well…I'll wait to see what this fellow here says." Fred decided.

Brice wrote down Brackett's IV instructions and glanced up. Bellingham was frozen, the flashlight slipping out of his grip. Come to think of it, Bellingham's face was looking a bit opaque.

Bellingham grasped the flashlight. "I would go see a doctor, yeah. Probably. You have some...excessive hemorrhaging, yeah. Someone should look at that."

"Do you need a second opinion?" Brice could see that Bellingham was having a bit of trouble. Maybe it would be best if he took over instead.

"No." Bellingham snapped. Brice could see his upper lip curl. The start of the Animal's famous growl. "You worry about Mary, I can handle Fred." he grabbed the biophone. "Rampart, we have a second victim and an update on patient number one. It appears as if..."

"Of course." Maybe Brice had misjudged the situation. He slid an I.V into Mary's arm.

"This seems a little excessive." Mary said.

"Doctors orders." Brice explained. "Unless you want to-"

"That's alright." Mary cut Brice off and glared at her husband. "I probably wouldn't need all of this if Fred hadn't just gone to the hospital  _like I told him to_."

"I'm sorry." Fred apologized sheepishly. "I didn't think you would find my throat  _that_ disgusting, considering…"

"Open up again." Bellingham ordered. "The doctor wants me to check for something."

Fred shrugged and obediently let Bellingham examine him. Brice saw a trail of blood cascade down his right cheek. It appeared as if Fred would most likely get a ride to the hospital today, along with his wife.

"10-4 Rampart." Bellingham set the biophone down. "Doctor says to start an IV with D5W and to take you to the hospital. And for you to stop talking."

Fred wiped the blood from his cheek. "Sure-" Fred realized what he was doing and switched to a vigorous head nod.

Mary wrung her hands. "Is it serious?"

"He'll have to be put under for another operation-" Bellingham took a deep breath and shook his shoulders. He gave Mary a reassuring smile. "Well, it's a little bit serious. But nothing the doctors can't handle. It's pretty common, actually. It'll be a quick operation and your husband will be fine."

Mary frowned. "I don't understand. When I had my tonsils out, I was in and out of the hospital in a day. Fred was there for three days. And then this…"

"Postoperative complications are more common in adult tonsillectomies than childhood ones." Brice clarified. "Your husband should be fine in about 10-14 days."

"What am I, a package?" Fred quipped.

Bellingham rolled his eyes. "That was funny, but please be quiet sir."

Fred nodded.

Brice could hear the sirens coming. "Sounds like the ambulance is here. Do you want me to ride with them or…"

"You rode last time." Bellingham reminded him. "It's my turn."

"Sure." Brice agreed.

Brice watched Bellingham as the attendants loaded the ambulance. He still looked a bit pale. As the ambulance drove away, Brice couldn't help but wonder what the inside of Fred's throat looked like. He shrugged and got in the squad. Maybe he didn't need to know.


	6. A Ruff Evening

Brice reversed the squad in the hospital parking lot. He took a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. That had definitely been one of his more interesting calls. Nowhere near the Top Ten, but pretty high on the list. Wife faints due to husband's medical condition, husband has postoperative tonsillectomy complications. Brice was looking forward to logging  _that_. He was just relieved that the man had let Bellingham treat him. Based on what he heard Bellingham tell Rampart, immediate medical attention was probably the best response.

As he made his way to the Nurse's station, he ran a mental list of what the squad might need to pick up. Definitely some D5W. Although Bellingham had probably thought of that…

"I mean, I don't normally like to complain, but everything put together just made me...ugh!"

 _That was Bellingham's voice. He's probably talking about me_. Brice ducked into a doorway to eavesdrop. It's always logical to find out what other people are saying about you.

"Bob," Miss McCall said, "some people are just stubborn like that."

"I know, but it was so bad…" Bellingham shuddered.

Brice decided that he'd had enough of listening. He came around the corner, ready to defend himself.

"I just wished that he'd just gone to the hospital." Bellingham finished. "Would've saved both him and his wife a lot of trouble."

 _Oh, he was talking about the patient!_ Brice stopped in his tracks.

"Hey Brice." Bellingham waved. "I see you found the place okay."

"Ha ha." Brice crossed his arms and forced a grin, trying to hide the fact that he was about to let Bellingham have it.

"Oh yeah!" Bellingham snapped his fingers. "We need some D5W, right Brice?"

"Probably about three packs." Brice told him.

"I'd say three." Bellingham agreed.

"Sure thing." Miss McCall grabbed the packs. "By the way, how are you gentlemen getting along?"

"Pretty good." Bellingham answered.

"It always takes a while to get used to a new partner." Brice shrugged. "But I am happy to report that our arguing is minimal."  _At least, for the moment._

"Glad to hear it." Miss McCall smiled.

"By the way," Brice asked, "what is the status of the patient we brought in?"

"They're taking him into surgery to fix his hemorrhaging, but he should be fine in a day or two." Miss McCall said.

"That's good news." Brice nodded.

Bellingham's upper lip twisted into the growl again.

Brice was annoyed. Bellingham had done the same thing after Brice had tried to discreetly tried to switch places with him. "What are you mad at me about?" Brice asked, trying to keep his voice level.

"What?" Bellingham's eyebrows rose. "I'm not mad at you."

"Then why are you doing the animal growl?"

"Oh!" Bellingham exclaimed. "That! It's actually a stress tick. It's where I got my nickname from. I did it after the drill sergeant walked past me and…" Bellingham trailed off. "Anyway, when everyone else noticed how messy I apparently was, the Animal stuck. I mean, I can make myself do it when I'm  _really_ mad, but you'd have to something  _really_ bad before you get that reaction out of me."

"So, you weren't mad at me when I offered to switch with you?" Brice asked.

"When did you offer to switch with me?"

"Well, Mary said that you were looking a little green." Brice explained. "So I asked if you needed a second opinion…"

"Oh! That's what you meant! I thought you were trying to take...well it doesn't matter." Bellingham cleared his throat. "Fred really needed post-operative surgery." Bellingham cringed. His upper lip twitched again. "Glad he's seeing a doctor."

"He was pretty stubborn." Miss McCall added. "It's a good thing that his wife is just as stubborn as him, or who knows what would've happened."

"So was it the sight of blood that threw you off or the amount of it?" Brice asked. "Or was it something else?"

"Brice!" Miss McCall exclaimed.

"What?" Brice blinked. He was only trying to figure out what had made that call so gross for Bellingham. He never normally acted like this. Wouldn't that be something a good partner would do?

"It's alright." Bellingham sighed. "I just don't really like calls that have to do with...oral trauma. And while we're on the subject, I may or may not have a touch of Odontophobia."

"Ah, I see." Miss McCall winced. "Give me a MVA any day, but a kid who loses their tooth in the waiting room...yeah I'm glad I'm not the tooth fairy."

"You don't like people's mouths?" Brice clarified. Surprisingly, he didn't know the word Odontophobia. He guessed that it was the fear of something, and probably mouth related, but Brice wasn't about to admit that he was in the dark.

"I don't like the dentist, or teeth, or dental work, or yes, people's mouths in general. " Bellingham confessed. "One of my least favorite calls that I have been on involved a kid who got his braces stuck in a chain link fence…" he shuddered. "I'm not the only person who has an irrational dislike of something, I know a paramedic who hates rashes, but yeah, I know it's strange."

"Theoretical scenario," Brice began, "if someone were to…"

Bellingham cut him off. "Please don't pose any theoretical scenarios. It's not something I like going into a ton of detail about."

"Okay." Brice hadn't meant to embarrass Bellingham. He only wanted to understand him, and Odontophobia, a bit better. But if he didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want to talk about it.

"Are there calls you don't like going to, Brice?" Miss McCall gently prompted.

Brice thought about it for a minute. "Anything with kids." Brice answered. "But I gather that is almost everyone's answer. Other than that...I'd have to say I dislike being called for animal bite calls."

Bellingham nodded. "It's pretty difficult to find the animals so we can take them in for testing."

"I particularly dislike treating snake bite victim calls." Brice continued. "With some venomous snakes, a squad could be right next to the victim and they could still die by the time we got them to the hospital. There is no way to get that situation under control, nothing we can really do for the victim other than to place an IV and drive."

Bellingham's eyebrows shot up. "I never thought about it like that."

"Rescue Squads don't have refrigeration, so you guys can't carry the antivenom." Miss McCall bit her lip. "Sometimes I take it for granted how easily we can get supplies in the hospital."

Brice hadn't meant to make anyone uncomfortable. Had he overshared? "I also don't really like snakes, if we're being honest." Brice rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that comment diffused the tension. "Anyway! We should probably be heading back to the station…"

"Squad 16, what's your status?" Sam Lanier's voice echoed from Bellingham's pocket.

"Squad 16, available at Rampart." Bellingham answered.

"Standby for response." A pause, and then: "Engine 51, Squad 16 in place of Squad 51, house fire. 1118 Virginia Court. 1118 Virginia Court. Time out: 16:32."

"Squad 16, ten-four." Bellingham waved to Miss McCall. "Better go. See you later, Dix."

"Take care." Miss McCall waved back.

 

* * *

 

It was Brice's turn to drive. Ironically, he was probably the only fireman in Los Angeles county to not join for the fires, but that didn't mean his adrenaline wasn't pumping every time a fire call came in. He glanced over at his partner. Bellingham's knee was bouncing up and down. It looked like he felt the same way.

"Take the next right." Bellingham told Brice. "I think it should be at the end of this cul de sac."

Brice obeyed. As soon as he turned the corner, he could see a woman in a pastel flower dress and a boy with a ratty jacket standing in front of a blue house. Engine 51 was already present, as was Officer Howard. Brice pulled over to the curb, set his glasses on the dash, and hopped out.

"Is the fire out yet?" the woman asked, wringing her hands.

"Should be soon." Stoker promised. "Brice, Bellingham, there's a small fire in the basement. Cap wanted you guys to do a sweep on the back western corner of the upper floor. There should be a dog in the far back room and a leash for him on a hook attached to the door."

"A golden retriever." the woman specified. "It's well-trained. The Browns keep him in their back room while they're out. Oh, I do hope he's alright!"

"You got it, Mike." Bellingham adjusted his strap and headed inside the structure. Brice followed. There was a lot of smoke, but Stanley, Lopez and Kelly otherwise appeared to have things under control. Bellingham and Brice ascended to the second level without any issue. They approached the door. Brice heard the faint sound of a dog barking.

"Well, that's good news." Bellingham sighed in relief and put his hand on the door.

"Wait!" Brice exclaimed, but it was too late.

A fluffy mass of gold shot out of the room, bowling Bellingham over and knocking his helmet askew. Brice jumped back, narrowly avoiding being taken down as well. The retriever started to kiss Bellingham, pushing his mask off.

"Woah!" Bellingham used on hand to defend from the retriever's onslaught, and the other to readjust his mask. "Nice doggie! Heel!"

Brice burst out laughing. The sight was just too ridiculous to do otherwise. He thought back to a book he had read as a child, back when he was trying to convince his parents to get him a dog. Hopefully, the owners had trained their dog. Brice held his right palm up, facing the ceiling. "Sit!" he commanded.

The golden obediently sat down, right on top of Bellingham. "Okay, that's a start," he panted, "but could ya get him off me?"

Brice placed his hand diagonally across his chest. "Come."

The retriever happily trotted over to Brice, stepping on Bellingham's head in the process. Brice gently scooped up the golden as best as he could. grinning ear to ear. This was definitely the funniest thing to happen on the job in awhile.

"Thanks Brice." Bellingham sat up and readjusted his equipment. "You're pretty good with animals."

"You should be too, considering your moniker." Brice blurted before he could stop himself.

"Was that a joke?" Bellingham chuckled.

"I'm sorry." Brice apologized. "I suppose now is not the appropriate time…"

"No, no, no!" Bellingham stood up. "That was pretty good!"

"Um...thanks." Brice shifted the dog's weight and made his way to the stairs. He wasn't sure what possessed him to make a joke while on a call, maybe it was the craziness of what had just happened. Usually, he tried to avoid joking on the job. His father had taught him not too, and he wasn't very good with jokes anyway.

"You should tell more jokes!" Bellingham suggested. "Heck, I didn't even know you could laugh until just now!"

Bellingham's words hit him like a bucket of cold water. Is that what people thought of him? Brice wasn't sure how to process this information. "I can tell as many jokes as I want to." Brice told Bellingham. "Now is not the appropriate time to talk about this."

"Okay." Bellingham agreed. He grabbed the leash off the door. "Marco and Chet should be done by now."

Sure enough, Bellingham was correct. As Brice carefully made his way down the stairs, he could partially see the outline of a firefighter carrying his hose out of the basement.

"Fire under control?" Bellingham asked.

"Yep." Captain Stanley's voice answered. "It caused a lot of damage though. I've got to talk to Vince about it, and see if the neighbor knows how to get a hold of the owners."

"Hopefully the owners carried adequate insurance." Brice navigated the last few steps. The dog, not understanding what was going on, was whimpering and struggling to get out of his arms.

Brice and Bellingham emerged from the structure. Brice carefully set the golden retriever down. Bellingham clipped the leash on and handed it to him.

"My back's sore." Bellingham explained, carefully taking his tank off.

"Fair enough." Brice pulled off his mask and glanced behind the fire truck. A green car was racing up the street. Two elderly people jumped out, a man in a brown sweater and a woman in a blue dress. The man started running towards the structure. "What-what's happening? What the heck is going on here?""

The woman made a beeline for Brice. "Honey!" she screamed.

Brice tensed up, thinking the woman was heading for him, only to watch her kneel down and hug her dog.  _That must be Mrs. Brown then. Her dog's name must be Honey. That makes more sense._

"Unfortunately, there's been a small fire in the basement." Captain Stanley explained to the man who must be Mr. Brown. "The good news is, your neighbor caught it early and it's been contained to your laundry room. It did do some minor damage though, and…"

"Oh Honey, I'm so glad you're okay." The woman was vigorously petting her dog. Honey's tail was thumping back and forth. "Oh, you're such a good girl. Yes you are. Yes you are."

"She is an extremely well-behaved animal." Brice handed Mrs. Brown the leash. "You did a great job training her. I only had to perform a few hand signals, and she came right to me."

"Thank you so much for saving her, and our house!" Mrs. Brown stood up and pulled Brice into a hug.

Brice's mind overloaded. He hated, no,  _despised_ people touching him. He pushed her away as gently as possible while trying to keep his face neutral. "Yeah, you're welcome, that's-that's my job. Yeah." He adjusted the rumpled parts of his turncoat.

"I was there too." Bellingham pointed out.

"Well, thanks to the both of you." Mrs. Brown smiled.

"It's not a problem, ma'am." Bellingham smiled politely back. Brice just nodded his head a few times.

"Brice, Bellingham," Captain Stanley came over to them. "It looks like we have things under control here. If you two want to go available, that would be fine by me."

"Will do, Stanley." Bellingham agreed. He turned to Mrs. Brown. "Well, we should head back to our station. I'm glad we were able to help today."

"I'm just glad you managed to save our Honey." Mrs. Brown gave the golden an affectionate pat. "She means a lot to us."

"You're welcome." Brice nodded again. Honey was now laying on her master's legs, tail still wagging. He let out a small smile. That dog was adorable. Without further ado, he waved politely to Mrs. Brown and slid into the driver's seat of the squad. Bellingham slid in next to him. As he was backing out, he belatedly remembered that it was technically Bellingham's turn to drive. Oh well. Maybe he wouldn't notice as long as Brice kept his mouth shut. Besides, Brice could let him drive next time.

Maybe.


	7. Pranks and Dreams

“So you’re pretty good with animals.” Bellingham complimented Brice. 

“My major in college was going to be biology.” Brice lightly tapped the steering wheel with his pointer finger. “I was considering a career as a veterinarian, or something else in that field. I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do at that time. Tim and I always joked about running an animal rescue, he would save the animals and I’d heal them, but…” Brice cleared his throat. “Anyway. Going from a veterinarian to a fireman paramedic might seem like a pretty big switch, but it really isn’t. I was able to apply my knowledge of biology, which made paramedic training significantly easier.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Bellingham said. “I’m jealous. I took me  _ forever  _ to get everything down. I had quite a few late nights cramming it all in.”

Brice just shrugged nonchalantly. He never really had to study when he was in school. It was one of the advantages of a photographic memory. 

“So, how did you handle the fire part?” Bellingham asked. 

“Well enough.” Brice answered. “I mean, I’m still here, right? I obviously know how to deal with a fire.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Bellingham amended. “I mean, out of all the careers in the world, why a fireman paramedic, instead of a doctor or something?”

“We had this discussion already.” Brice reminded him. “I went to college, took some classes, learned about the portable defibrillator at a convention, and then decided to join the fire service to become a paramedic.” 

“That was more paramedic-centered. If you just wanted to use a defibrillator, you could have been a doctor.” Bellingham folded his hands behind his head. “Me, I wanted to be a fireman for a very long time. My father was a policeman, and his friends would come over to our house a lot. Most of them were policemen, but the stories from his fireman buddies always stuck out to me. I couldn’t think of a better job. Still can’t, honestly. It took me a bit,” Bellingham chuckled, “but I ended up here eventually.”

“To be honest,” Brice admitted, “my father was...surprised when he heard my career choice.” Surprised was probably the best way to describe it. His father had reacted with a combination of anger because Brice was dropping out of school, shock because Brice was becoming a fireman, and fear because of the dangers that came with that profession. “My father had always envisioned me at a desk job, just like him. Or as a doctor. A fireman was at the bottom of the list when he saw my future. I still don’t think he’s fully accepted it, or understands my choice.”

“I’m sorry.” Bellingham said.

“Don’t apologize.” Brice told him. “That’s his problem. I wasn’t looking for his approval when I joined.”

“Then what were you looking for?”

“Well…” Brice stopped for a red light. He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “I wanted to do some good.” He answered at last. “The world kind of sucks and I was hoping to...fix it a bit? I don’t know.” Brice cringed. His answer was crazily idealistic, and he knew it. 

Surprisingly, Bellingham was nodding in agreement. “The would could always use more good.”

“Indeed.” For a wild minute, Brice considered telling him about the accident. It would be such a relief to finally tell someone else everything. Brice took a deep breath...

The car behind him honked. “The light is green.” Bellingham said helpfully.

“Right. Thanks.” Brice put the squad in gear. The urge to confess was gone. It was difficult subject anyway. Besides, he didn’t really know Bellingham that well. Brice wasn't quite ready to share something personal with him. Especially something as personal as the crash.

* * *

Brice pulled into the station. Bellingham hopped out almost as soon as the squad came to a complete stop. Brice sighed and turned off the car. Come to think of it, he hadn’t organized the drug box in awhile. Maybe it was time to check it over.

The minute Brice opened the squad’s compartment, he felt someone tap his shoulder. “So, bud, how has your day been?”

Brice jumped, almost dropping the keys. “Could you not sneak up on me like that?”

“Sorry.” Breckenridge apologized. “But how are you doing?”

“I’m busy.” Brice opened the drug box and scanned the contents. There where only a few errant areas;it probably wouldn’t take too much fixing. “After this I still have to do the dorms and then I should probably clean the squad and then...”

“Oh, I did the dorms for you.” Breckenridge interrupted him.

“Really?” Brice stopped working for a minute. “That’s really nice of you…”

Brice trailed off. Breckenridge had a mischievous grin on his face. The same grin he made after pulling a prank. As calmly as he could, Brice put the drug box back. “What did you do?”

“ _ Nothing _ …” Breckenridge smiled sweetly. 

“You definitely did something.” Brice made his way to the dorms, Breckenridge following behind him.

Upon his first inspection, everything appeared to be normal. At the very least, there wasn’t  confetti all over the floor this time (Brice was still mad about that prank). But then he took a closer look at the beds. The pillow of each bed was at the foot, and the bed sheets were neatly tucked in at the head of the bed.

“You made the beds backwards.” Brice said. 

“Yep!” Breckenridge was grinning ear to ear. 

“Did you short-sheet them too?” Brice groaned. 

“Oh, I didn’t think about that!” Breckenridge stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That’s actually a pretty good idea. Maybe next time.”

Brice pursed his lips.

“Not funny?” Breckenridge asked.

“Nope.”

Breckenridge shrugged. “Maybe next time!” he vowed as he started to remake Brice’s bed.

“Alright.” Brice agreed half-heartedly, even though he was pretty sure that day would never come. “Maybe next time.”

 Brice had never found any of Breckenridge’s practical jokes amusing or even that particularly inventive. It wasn’t his fault; Brice had just been pranked so many times in his life that looking for a bucket of water above a doorway or shortened sheets had just become second nature to him. It could be worse;at least Breckenridge’s pranking was well-intentioned. But Breckenridge labored under the illusion that one day, his pranks would get Brice to laugh. Brice didn’t have the heart to explain why that would never happen.

“I should probably get back to the drug box.” Brice said.

“Okay.” Breckenridge smoothed out Brice’s sheets. “I’ll see you at dinner, bud!”

“Don’t call me bud.” Brice wandered back to the bay. After realigning the last few labels, he pulled out the vacuum again. Maybe this time, he could properly clean the squad.

Just as he was finishing up, Thompson wandered over again. “Dinner’s ready.”

“In a minute.” Brice wrapped up the vacuum cord. “I have to...do things.”

“Like what?” Thompson asked.

“...Important ones.” Brice vaguely answered. “A lot of...important things.”

“I made all your favorites.” Thompson told him. “I knew you were going to have a rough day, so I figured that it wouldn’t hurt anything.”

Brice suppressed a sigh. Thompson had good intentions, of course, but sometimes he could be a bit over-protective. This was one of those times. “I thought it was weird that you were ‘practicing’ grilled cheese.” Brice admitted. “A six-year old can make that.”

“Well, yeah,” Thompson shrugged, “but I wanted to check to make sure I was putting the right amount of butter on. Teresa  _ hates  _ soggy food. And so do I, to be frank. Soggy fries are the worst. And so are soggy croutons. Crispy and crunchy is the way we like to go.”

Brice gave a small grin. Brice didn’t usually follow department gossip. However, even he had to agree that Thompson and Teresa would make an excellent couple. 

“We’re also going over ladder techniques after dinner.” Thompson pointed out. “I know you like those.*”

“True.” Brice admitted. “I guess I could hang around you guys for a bit.”

“You know we actually kind of like seeing you every once in awhile, right?” Thompson told him.

“Mm.” Brice nodded.

“I’m serious. Actually...” Thompson hesitated. “Um...Tripp asked me why you always avoid dinner.”

“Oh?” Brice’s eyebrows shot up.

“He was worried about you.” Thompson rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, you never come to dinner unless someone gets you, and you leave as quickly as possible…”

“What did you tell him?” Brice asked.

“That you usually do that.” Thompson answered.

“I suppose Breckenridge hasn’t been here that long.” Brice mused. “He’s not used to how I work yet. Not like you and Captain Sutton are.”

“Eh, well…” Thompson fidgeted. “If I’m being honest Brice…”

“Hey Caleb?” Tucker yelled from the other room. “You know those vegetables you were cooking?”

Thompson slapped his forehead. “How could I forget that?” Thompson ran over to the dining room, feet skidding on the bay floor. “I’m coming!”

Brice followed, at a much more reasonable pace. Thompson wouldn’t have burned the vegetables if he hadn’t been talking to Brice. What was Thompson going to tell him anyway?

“Here’s a plate, Brice.” Sutton shoved a plate full of food into his hand.

As Brice ate, he pushed his conversation with Thompson out of his mind. If it was important, Thompson would come and find him later. Besides, he had a ladder drill to look forward to. Why worry?

* * *

“Brice! Help!”

The first sensation he was aware of was the tingling in his legs. Then a trickle of liquid going up his forehead. He could see flashes of light through his eyelids.  Brice slowly forced his eyes open.

Engine 16 was sitting on its side, surrounded by electrical lines. Brice felt his heart drop into his chest. “I’m coming I’m coming I’m coming!” he yelled, frantically trying to free his leg. But he couldn’t. He tried and tried, straining against the weight, but to no avail.

“Brice!” the engine caught fire.

Brice pulled harder. He had to do something! But the harder he pulled, the bigger the fire got.

“Nooooooooo!”

_ Thump!  _

Brice started awake, heart pounding. It took him a moment to realize that he was in his bed at the station. His blankets were entwined around his legs, and his glasses were askew. Tears were dripping down his face. He took a few deep breaths. In, out. In, out. He rubbed his foot. He must have kicked the wall again. Brice glanced at Bellingham, but he was loudly snoring through the pillow mashed in his face. Tentatively, Brice peeked over the brick wall. Captain Sutton was also asleep. Good. 

Brice quietly threw on his turnouts and walked to the bathroom sink. He splashed some water on his face and scrubbed. It wasn’t unusual for him to dream about the accident in one form or another. Sutton had caught him thrashing a couple of times. What Sutton didn’t know was that the engine crew had started to replace Biff. As a matter of fact, tonight was the third time this week that Brice had dreamt this particular variation. Brice wasn’t sure why this had started to happen. Maybe it was because he saw the engine crew as...

Brice turned the sink off. Nope, nope, nope. Keep the distance. Can’t lose what you never had, right? Brice crawled back in bed, trying to convince himself. He didn’t need anyone in high school, and he didn’t need anyone now.

_ You had Biff and Tim _ , a voice in the back of his head reminded him.

_ And where did that get me? _ Brice shot back.  _ They’re gone now, and I’m miserable. _

Brice folded his hands under his head. This was going to be a long night.

Suddenly, Bellingham’s snoring broke off. Brice sat up. Bellingham had started to talk in his sleep.  _ That’s unusual, _ he thought to himself. In all the time he had known Bellingham, he usually snored all through the night, keeping Brice awake.

“Webster, no, Charlie…” Bellingham muttered.

Brice laid back down. Everything seemed okay. Charlie was the name of the snake, and he had joked about having a copy of Webster’s dictionary earlier in the day. His brain was probably just jumbling around the events of  the day. 

“No, come back,  _ come back _ …” Bellingham started to toss and turn, twisting the blankets around himself.

Brice frowned. Something was off with Bellingham’s tone. Odd. Brice peered at Bellingham through the darkness, waiting to see if anything changed.

“No...please...no…” Bellingham whimpered. 

Brice decided to wake him up. It was evident that he wasn’t having a good dream. But as he grabbed the fold of his sheets, the tones dropped. 

Bellingham completely fell out of bed the instant they went off. Brice threw his covers off and jumped back into his turnouts. Bellingham sprang up and followed suit.

“Engine 16, structure fire. 1874 Hillcrest. 1874 Hillcrest. Time out, 4:57.”

“Guess that’s not us.” Brice turned to Bellingham. “Back to bed?”

Bellingham adjusted his turnouts. “Eh, maybe not yet. Since I’m up I might as well use the washroom.”

It was hard to tell, but Bellingham looked pale. “Are you alright?” Brice asked.

“Yeah.” Bellingham nodded. “Go back to bed Brice. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Brice readjusted his sheets as Bellingham headed for the bathroom. If Bellingham said he was okay, he was okay. Maybe Brice was wrong. He drifted off to sleep to the sound of the sink running. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * In Season 5 episode 22, The Nuisance, Captain Stanley has a line about station 51 about to start some ladder techniques which he thinks Brice might enjoy. Thought it’d be a fun reference. :)


	8. An Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is everyone! I’m sorry for the wait. I ended up throwing most of what I’d already written, editing this chapter fifty times, and then some real-life issues popped up. Long story short, I have to do a job search now. Also, I’m not a firefighter, so if I made any procedural mistakes, please tell me. I hope I got everything in this chapter right.

Brice rose to the station’s wake-up tones. Bellingham’s bed had been stripped for the next shift already. Brice glanced around. It looked like the engine wasn’t back yet either. It was strange, waking up alone in the dorms. 

“Station 16, morning call.” Lainer’s voice echoed in the empty room. 

Ignoring the cold linoleum on his feet, Brice walked over to the radio. “Station 16, KNR-511.” 

“Ten-four.”

Brice yawned. He was dimly aware of a T.V playing. He rubbed his eyes. Deciding to see what Bellingham was up to, he slipped on his turnouts and made his way to the dayroom.

Just as Brice rounded the corner, Bellingham intercepted him. “Hey Brice.” he said, leaning on the door frame.

“Good morning.” Brice answered back. “Um...could I get around? I’d like some breakfast.”

“Just so you know, the news is on.” Bellingham’s upper lip twitched.

“Good. I would like to watch it. With my breakfast.” Brice tried to push his way around Bellingham.

Bellingham put his hand on Brice’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “Brice,” Bellingham swallowed nervously, “the engine is on the news.”

“They’re on the news?” Brice raised his eyebrows.

“Yep. News station caught wind of the situation and started filming.”

“Bad luck. Fires are always more troublesome with reporters about.” Brice still couldn’t understand why Bellingham wasn’t letting him in.

“The fire has been contained, and they were in the middle of clean up.” Bellingham chewed on his lower lip. “Then things kind of went wrong.”

“...And?” Brice asked tentatively. Bellingham was starting to scare him.     
Bellingham bowed his head and swallowed, “From what I could gather, something went wrong while they were shoring a wall and the floor above collapsed.” 

Brice felt his heart pop into the bottom of his stomach. “Let me see.” he demanded. 

Bellingham moved out of Brice’s way. 

Brice drifted toward the television, half listening, and stood in front of it. The news anchor was prattling on about the rescue efforts and giving a basic overview of what the firemen were doing. Brice already knew all of that, he had read the manuals and done the drills more times than he could count. All he wanted to know was how bad his fellow fireman’s injuries were, and if it was one of his coworkers from 16s.

“Uh, Brice, you’re making a better door than a window.” Bellingham said politely.

“Okay.” Brice replied, scrutinizing the screen, trying to make out the figures on the screen. He thought he saw a flash of red hair, which would most likely be Tucker, and he definitely saw Kelly and Lopez, but he couldn’t pick out anyone else. 

“Um...I meant that you’re blocking the T.V and I can’t see.” Bellingham clarified. “Could you…?”

“Oh. Oh!” Brice scrambled into a chair. “I’m sorry.”

The two sat in silence. Brice took a mental list of everyone he saw. There was Eastman by 32’s engine. Captain Stanley was talking with Captain Sutton and Captain Davies about something. He saw Paige and Owens from 32s carrying their crewmate Alvarez over to 51’s squad. Brice had a brief moment of hope that Alvarez had been the trapped man and the agonizing wait would be over, but the newscaster said that Alvarez had suffered from heat exhaustion, and had not been trapped. Brice felt his spirits sink again. That left Thompson, Breckenridge, Stoker, DeSoto, Gage, or Parker as the trapped man. Brice shared his observations with Bellingham.

“How can you keep track of them in this mess?” Bellingham sounded impressed. 

“I don’t know.” Brice shrugged his shoulders. “Good eyes, I guess.” he crossed his arms. All he could think about was that he hadn’t seen Thompson or Breckenridge yet. 

“We should’ve been on that call!” Brice blurted out.

“I know.” Bellingham pursed his lips. “I called dispatch already to see if we could get sent there. But they say that the crew on scene has everything under control.”

The cynical part of Brice thought that if they really had everything under control, they’d have the trapped man out already. Realistically, he knew that everyone was going as fast as they safely could. Brice still wished he was there. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so useless. 

The television droned on and on. The only other information they learned was that the trapped man was still alive. At one point, Bellingham made a stack of peanut butter toast. Brice took a piece. The peanut butter stuck to the top of his mouth and drug its way down his throat. Brice decided he wasn’t that hungry anyway. 

“You should change into your uniform,” Bellingham suggested. “B shift will be coming soon.”

“It can wait.” Brice said. “My turnouts are fine.”

“I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Bellingham promised. “You won’t be missing anything.

“I’m good. It’s not that long until shift change anyway.” Brice turned back to the television. Chief McConnikie was explaining specifics about the rescue to the newscaster, with the protocol terminology Brice could recite in his sleep. Normally, Brice took comfort in the protocol. But it wasn’t working this time. 

The B shift slowly started to file in. Thankfully, Bellingham took charge of getting everyone up to speed. Brice kept his eyes on the television, only moving when Ritcher brought a chair over. At this point, Brice had technically been relieved from duty, but he saw no point in going home. All the news about the trapped firefighter would be delivered to the fire stations before it made its way to his apartment.  

Six firemen sat and waited on the edge of their chairs. 

After what felt like an eternity, the news finally cut to a shot of DeSoto and Gage running with the stretcher, with the news that the man had been freed. While Brice was happy to see the two of them alive and well, his stomach did a dip anyway. He still hadn’t seen Thompson or Breckenridge. 

“That has to be a good sign, right?” Anderson asked. “I mean, they wouldn’t be running if there wasn’t a chance, right?”

Brice chose not to bring up the fact that it was usually inadvisable to run in the first place. If one wasn’t careful, they could injure themselves on the way to help their patient. Gage and DeSoto knew this. The only reason they would be running was if there was something very, very wrong. 

Brice felt his stomach contract. 

The camera then panned to the entrance again, where DeSoto and Gage were leaving. “It appears as if the trapped man has been freed.” The news anchor announced. “And it looks like he is in critical condition.”

Brice leaned forward, half hoping that the camera would pan closer so he could figure out who it was, half of him praying that the camera stopped there so Chief McConnikie would have a chance to contact the fireman’s family and break the news as gently as possible. Briefly, Brice imagined his parents getting a call from the chief. His stomach churned just thinking about it. 

DeSoto and Gage were obscuring the stretcher, along with a few other firemen. The camera focused back on the anchor. “All of our prayers will be with the fireman, his station, and his family.” Sirens sounded in the distance.

“We don’t even know who it is yet!” Kersey yelled at the television screen.

“It’s better for the family that they don’t broadcast that information right now.” Bellingham explained. “Lets them process the news before everyone tries to process it for them.”

“That’s fair,” Kersey gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, “but I don’t like being kept in the dark like this!”

“It’s either Stoker, Parker, Thompson, or Breckenridge.” Brice said quietly. 

“What makes you so sure?” Captain Leverson asked.

“They’re the only people we haven’t seen yet.” Brice answered. “It was pretty chaotic, but that’s the best educated guess I can make.”

“Educated guess.” Leverson scoffed under his breath.  

“Well, can’t we just call dispatch or Rampart?” Anderson asked. 

“Against the rules.” Holland answered before Brice could. “Besides, he probably isn’t there yet.”

“Every single fireman in this county is probably going to try anyway.” Ritcher grumbled. “Why can’t we just do it?” 

“Because,” Holland lectured his partner, “those lines need to stay open for emergencies. If it’s Thompson or Breckenridge, someone will call the station.”

The phone started to ring, almost as if Holland had summoned it. Brice could feel every single fireman tense up. The entire room was holding its breath. Captain Leverson slowly stood up, walked over to the phone, and curled his fingers over the receiver. “Station 16. Leverson here.”

Brice felt his mouth go sandpaper dry.

Leverson fiddled with the cord. “No...” He clenched the cord so hard it pulled taunt. “It can’t be.”

The station waited with bated breath. Leverson started to shake a little. 

“Max, I…” Leverson wrapped the cord around his finger. “No, I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll figure something out. I’m sure he’ll be okay. I mean, he has to be, right?”

_ This isn’t going to be good _ , Brice thought.

Another long pause. Leverson exhaled. “Tell Stoney and Stanley that I appreciate it. I need to see him. And Max… just tell Jeremiah to take it easy on the way back, alright? Okay, bye.” Leverson hung up the phone.

“That was Sutton, right?” Holland grilled Leverson. “What did he say?”

Leverson grabbed his chair and pulled  it in front of the crew. “The good news is that Caleb and Tripp are alright.”

“Was…” Kersey hesitated, “...was the trapped man Kyle?”

“Yes.” Leverson nodded grimly. 

Kersey gasped. 

“How is Parker?” Brice asked, taking care to use his last name.

“Well...there’s no point in beating around the bush.” Leverson clenched his fingers together, almost like he was praying. “When he fell, he landed funny. He hit his head and most likely broke his back. It’s going to be a long road for him.” Leverson swallowed. “And...to be frank, from what I understand from the phone call, he might be paralyzed.” he shook his head. “But we don’t know for certain.” he sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself. “We’ll just have to wait and see how things go.”

Kersey swore under his breath. Brice vaguely remembered that Kersey and Parker used to be Station 32’s paramedics on the A-shift before Kersey had gotten promoted. The two of them must’ve been close.

“How did the fire start?” Ritcher inquired. 

“I never asked.” Leverson admitted sheepishly. “I guess I was just thinking about Kyle.”

“S’alright Cap.” Holland reassured him. 

Leverson swallowed nervously. “I realize that this is some pretty bad news,” he said, “and this isn’t how most of us anticipated starting our day.” Leverson stood up. “If you guys need to talk to me, I’m available any time you guys need me. I-I-I…” Leverson swallowed again, “I...have some stuff I n-need to do in the office. Brice, Bellingham, you guys should change into street clothes. Your shiftmates should be back soon.” With that, Leverson strode off. 

Bellingham moved to go after him, but Holland stopped him. “I think Leverson needs a minute to process things.”

“Alone?” Bellingham asked.

“Usually, he takes a couple of minutes in the office, and then he comes and talks to us.” Holland explained. “It’s how he works;it’s nothing personal.”

“Leverson and Kyle are cousins,” Kersey explained, “but they basically grew up like brothers, which is why this is hard on him…” Kersey let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his hands over his face. “This shouldn’t have happened. Not to Kyle. Not like this.”

The men sat in silence. What was there to say?

Brice had no idea that Leverson had family in the department. It had never dawned on him that Leverson could have a Tim of his own. Brice couldn’t even imagine how he’d feel if he heard that something terrible had happened to his cousin. Sure, Brice didn’t like Leverson, but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Hopefully, Parker would be alright. 

“ _ You don’t say ham, you say Spam… _ ”*

Brice jumped. The Spam commercial was louder than the broadcast had been, and he hadn’t been expecting it. 

“There isn’t anything more we can do, Brice.” Bellingham gently touched his shoulder. “We should get changed. Talk to our shift.”

“ _ Spam is real spiced ham… _ ”

Brice pulled his arm away. He’d rather stay here, in uniform. It seemed wrong to be listening to a Spam commercial. It seemed wrong that one could even still play, that anything could go back to normal. Part of him wondered if the rest of Carson even realized what had just happened. He didn’t feel right just walking away and leaving his station mates to their grief, even though he wouldn’t be much help. 

“Bellingham has a point.” Kersey stood up, fists clenched. “We won’t learn anything else just sitting here. I’ve got...some phone calls to make.” He made his way to the dorms.

“Kersey, wait.” Holland followed him.

“ _ You don’t say ham… _ ” 

“I’ll let you guys know if anything changes.” Ritcher promised. “But to be honest, I think the engine crew will know more than some news program at this point.”

The Spam commercial ended, and was replaced with the McDonald’s fish sandwich commercial. 

“Fine.” Brice agreed reluctantly, standing up. He and Bellingham walked to the locker room, the television still buzzing in the background.  

The minute they turned the corner, Bellingham threw open his locker door with enough fervor that it slammed into its neighbor and ricocheted back at him. Belllingham caught the door with his hand just in time. Brice could faintly hear the sound of a repressed sob. 

“Are you okay?” Brice asked, watching as Bellingham stuffed his head deep into the locker.

“Not really.” Bellingham sniffled. “I just...this has not been a good day.”

“That is an understatement.” Brice opened his locker. 

“I’ll say.” Bellingham chuckled weakly. He closed the door and swiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry. Parker was the guy who trained me. He and Kersey taught me everything I know. Those two were like DeSoto and Gage, before there was a DeSoto and Gage. You know what I mean?”

“Yes.” Brice nodded. As much as he and Gage clashed, he had to admire Gage’s friendship with DeSoto. The department was definitely better for it. The two of them were a well-oiled machine, and a real force to be reckoned with. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. 

“This isn’t fair.” Bellingham muttered. “Stuff like this shouldn’t happen. Not to him. I mean, not to anyone in general, but not to him.”

Brice just nodded in agreement. 

Bellingham pulled his clothes out of his bag. “Say...you going over to the hospital later?”

“There’s no point.” Brice pulled on his shirt. “Leverson said Parker’s in surgery, and we can’t see him in surgery.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Bellingham conceded, “but we can at least be there. For moral support, and so we can get news quicker. You know?”

“We can’t all be over there.” Brice reminded him. “Rampart has enough to deal with without the entire Los Angeles County fire department in their lobby.” 

“I know, but I feel like I need to be there.” Bellingham explained. “For everyone else. You know?”

Brice nodded. Even though he wasn’t the best support person, he could understand that. “Do you need a ride?”

Bellingham blinked. “My car’s fine, but...that’s nice of you. Thanks.”

Brice shrugged indifferently. It wasn’t really that much of a hassle to drive over to Rampart.

The rumbling of the bay doors sounded through the station. “They’re back.” Brice said, grabbing his duffel bag and heading out the door to meet him. Bellingham followed. 

Breckenridge was the first out of the engine. His face was covered in soot. Brice opened his mouth in greeting, but Breckenridge pushed past him and made a beeline for the bathrooms. Brice blinked. That was unusual. Then again, it had been an unusual day. 

“I’ll go talk to him.” Sutton hopped out and followed.

Tucker and Thompson jumped out too. “Man, am I glad to see you two!” Thompson pulled off his helmet. He was also coated in soot. 

“I’m glad you guys are back.” Bellingham said, relieved.

“It’s good to see you guys too.” Thompson took off his coat. “That floor collapse…it was not good.”

“Kyle Parker’s in bad shape.” Tucker absently kicked at the engine’s tire. “Not sure how much you heard about the accident.”

“It was on the news.” Brice informed him. “Sutton’s call pretty much filled in the blanks for us.”

“Oh no!” Thompson’s eyes bulged. “Teresa’s going to freak out!”

“You should give her a call.” Tucker suggested. “Trust me, the sooner you do it, the better. I know from experience. Use the one in the dorm.”

“Thanks.” Thompson hurried off.

“Sorry we’re being so curt with y’all.” Tucker rubbed his hand across his face, smearing the soot. “It was...a little tense over there for awhile. You two understand, right?”

Brice and Bellingham nodded. 

“You probably saw most of the important details already then.” Tucker said.

Brice and Bellingham nodded again.

“We were shoring some walls and clearing furniture, and Parker asked Tripp for help with some couch. Tripp was walking over and...the floor just went.”

Brice gulped audibly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bellingham’s lip twitch.

“It almost got Tripp too.” Tucker shuddered. “If Caleb hadn’t grabbed him...there would’ve been two critically injured firemen instead of one.”

Brice was grateful for Thompson’s steller reflexes. Things could’ve been so much worse.

“And you know what burns me?” Tucker cracked his knuckles. “They haven’t made this public yet, but the fire was most likely a case of arson. They found fireworks in the rubble, the same kind we’ve been seeing around here lately. If they’d just taken our trash can arsonist more seriously in the first place…” Tucker sighed in frustration.

“The...the arsonist?” Brice was stunned. 

“Yeah.” Tucker pursed his lips. 

Brice felt numb. He didn’t get to work with Parker often or know him too well, but Belleveau had once said that firemen are like the Hydra. Hurt one head, and the other eight are right there ready to bite your face off. While Brice found the metaphor strange, he also found it surprisingly apt. Especially now. Brice was angry, no, he was  _ furious. _ It irritated him that someone could be so thoughtless and reckless. The job of a fireman was dangerous enough without people purposely setting fires. Who would do something like that?

“Don’t you find the sudden increase in scale odd?” Brice asked. “I mean, trash cans to abandoned buildings, that’s a leap.”

“I guess so.” Tucker shrugged. 

“And where do you think the arsonist keeps getting the fireworks?” Brice mused. “Not a lot of people can get that much that fast. That should narrow down the suspects easily.”

“It might.” Tucker agreed tersely. 

“Who do you think is doing it?” Brice pondered out loud. “I know we were thinking some teen originally, but if you factor in the access to pyrotechnics, that might mean we’re looking at an adult perpetrator.” Another thought occurred to him. “And what if it’s not the same person who set those trash can fires? They could just have the same supplier. What if they know each other?”

“I dunno, I’m not an arson investigator!” Tucker threw his hands up in the air. “And you’re not either. What’s the point in speculating anyway? It doesn’t do any good! It already happened, deconstructing it and talking about it ad nauseum isn’t going to do us any good! It won’t fix anything!”

“I-I…” Brice stammered. “I was thinking if we find anything that can help the investigation, that would be good, but catching the arsonist is probably a job best left to law enforcement. Probably. Definitely. Yes.”

Tucker’s expression softened. “I’m sorry.” Tucker apologized. “I’m just...angry. This whole thing could’ve been avoided. I probably shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

“Yeah probably not.” Brice quickly agreed with him. He was used to Tucker being grumpy and pessimistic, but Brice had never seen him actually snap at someone before.

“I’m sorry Brice.” Tucker apologized again, wincing. 

Brice shrugged. The apology seemed genuine. 

“Are you going to the hospital?” Bellingham asked Tucker. 

“I’m going to see if Kersey has a sub for his shift first.” Tucker took off his turncoat and laid it on the engine. “He and Parker are pretty close. Are you going?”

“Yeah.” Bellingham answered.

“Would you mind driving Kersey?” Tucker asked. 

“Not at all.” Bellingham nodded. “Kersey’s in the dorms, by the way. I’ll hang out here until he’s ready.”

“Alright. I’ll see you two around.” Tucker waved as he made his way there.

Bellingham turned to Brice. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

“I’m sure.” Brice told him. “I wouldn’t be doing any good there.”

“I’ll call you with any news I hear.” Bellingham promised. “Would you like that?”

“That’s really nice of you.” Brice pulled out his notepad and wrote his number down. “Let me get you a few dimes.” 

“Oh, I have a couple in my center console.” Bellingham pushed Brice’s offer away. “It’s not a big deal.”

“No, I insist.” Brice held out his hand again.

Bellingham looked at Brice. 

Brice looked at Bellingham.

Bellingham yawned. “You know, you should be heading home.”

“Alright.” Defeated, Brice lowered his hand.

Kersey emerged from the locker room, dressed in his street clothes. “Bellingham, are you ready?”

“Yeah.” Bellingham slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll call you later, yeah?”

Brice nodded. “Thanks again, Bellingham.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Bellingham led Kersey to his pickup. Brice went to his Corvette. 

Five blocks from the station, Brice felt the tears well in his eyes. At first, he wiped them away. He didn’t even know Parker that well. Heck, he hadn’t even known his first name until today. There was no reason to cry.

There wasn’t. 

But for some reason, all Brice could think about was the few times they had been on duty together, and how nice Parker had been.

But bad things happen to nice people all the time. That’s part of the job.

There’s no reason to cry over it.

None at all.

Yet...

Brice pulled over to the curb, placed his forehead on his steering wheel, and let the tears flow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Those are the actual lyrics to a Spam commercial. Just for the record. Sometimes during this chapter, I went to the Spam museum, and for some reason that worked its way in here. Hopefully, it didn’t throw things off too terribly.


End file.
